


Quondam Rex

by rabidchild67



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Nanny, Fluff, Kid Fic, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-20
Updated: 2014-05-20
Packaged: 2018-01-25 21:10:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 31,434
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1662575
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rabidchild67/pseuds/rabidchild67
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU in which Spock Prime came through the wormhole at the same time as Nero and it was Winona who died during the Kelvin attack. Hiding in plain sight, Spock takes a job as a nanny to protect George Kirk and his two young sons from Nero.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is my Spock Prime Big Bang story.
> 
> Please check out the incredible art for this story (also embedded below) by:
> 
> Tumblr user @ttakooo (AO3 user midsummersunshine) here: http://ttakooo.tumblr.com/post/86301369705/quondam-rex-author-rabidchild67-artists
> 
> Tumblr/LJ user @synnesai here: http://synnesai.livejournal.com/160559.html
> 
> This story was inspired by the film _Mrs. Doubtfire_. Excerpts from T. H. White’s _The Once and Future King_ are taken from the Ace edition, published in 1987. The title of this story, in Latin, can be translated loosely as, “once my king,” or so Google Translator tells me.

**Stardate 2233. 94**

The old man walked into the busy coffee shop on Van Ness and even if he didn’t already know who he was looking for, he’d recognize George Kirk immediately. The fair hair, the determined set of the mouth – all hallmarks of the Kirk breed were present and correct. 

George sat at a central table with the baby in his arms, fussy and petulant, refusing the bottle his father was attempting to feed him. A blue, terry cloth sehlat fell to the floor and no less than three women vied for the honor of picking it up and returning it to George. He thanked them all politely and returned to feeding his son, who was the sole focus of his attention. The women departed to their separate tables, disappointed.

As the old man approached the table, George looked up at him with polite interest, and then with undisguised curiosity. “Oh, I – I wasn’t expecting a manny.”

“I beg your pardon?” the old man asked.

“Is that what you call a male nanny? Forgive me, I’m still getting used to all the terminology and everything.” George kept trying to get the child to accept the bottle, which he finally did with a disgruntled noise. George beamed, proud of himself. 

“I prefer childcare professional.”

“How very descriptive. Can I get you a cup of tea?” George made to rise, but the old man stayed him with a raised hand. 

“I require nothing.” 

“Thanks for meeting me here,” George continued. “My mom said it would be a bad idea to meet people at the house, though I’m not sure why. Little Jimmy here sure would be better off there.”

“Children often are more comfortable in familiar surroundings, particularly at such a young age.”

“You have a lot of experience with it, then? I suppose you do, since the agency sent you over.”

“I do. It is all in my CV.”

George nodded and took a sip from the lemonade sitting at his elbow. “So, tell me more about yourself – I have to say, it was surprising to find a Vulcan among the applicants for the nanny position. And I didn’t actually catch your name – it came through on your CV in Golic and well, my wife was the one who was good with languages.”

“I understand,” the old man replied. “Vulcan names are also difficult for humans to pronounce.” He pulled out the seat opposite father and child and sat down, the action creating the pause necessary for him to steel himself to deliver his next statement, which would be a lie. He folded his hands on the table.“You may call me Selek.”

“Selek,” George said, trying the name out, then he nodded and smiled. “I’m George. George Kirk. I would shake your hand, but I know that Vulcans aren’t into that. This little fella here is Jim.” He smiled down at the child again, who was now falling asleep while suckling at the bottle. 

“He is most aesthetically pleasing,” Spock said, because in all his travels, a universal constant had always been the desire of parents to be complimented on their children’s attractiveness.

“Thank you. So, I think I’m supposed to interview you now. Your education and work history are impressive. Why have you chosen this line of work?”

“I have been retired for some years, but… I believe the appropriate human phrasing is, ‘I was beginning to feel like an old fart.’” 

George nearly choked on his lemonade and then his face colored. “You don’t say?” he said with a cough.

“My primary field of study, as you see, was astrophysics, and though I still keep up with the field, I was beginning to feel restive and bored, if those two states are possible to feel simultaneously. For a Vulcan, it was quite disturbing.”

“I can imagine. But there are lots of places you might look for work – a university, for instance. Why this? Why take care of other people’s children?”

Spock settled a reflective expression on his face. “When I look back on my life, I find I derived the most satisfaction – indeed, I was at my most content – when I had a young child of my own to look after. I suppose I am looking to feel that satisfaction again.”

George looked at him shrewdly, as if weighing the truth of his words. “That still doesn’t exactly qualify you as a caregiver.”

“I would not expect you to accept that as the sole basis for my qualifications either. When I determined my goal, I undertook the appropriate course of study independently. I am a fully-certified nanny, and also maintain a certification in basic first aid. As a retired Starfleet officer, I am also adept at hand-to-hand combat, though I doubt that will become a factor.”

“You haven’t met my older son, Sam,” George said, and Spock raised an eyebrow.

The interview lasted another thirty minutes, during which time George asked the types of questions for which Spock had prepared, and Spock exuded the kind of quiet capability and confidence that only Vulcans could. They parted with the agreement that George would be in touch the following day, as he was interested in engaging someone as soon as possible.

\----

“Anybody sitting here?”

Spock looked up at the young woman who’d spoken and shook his head in the negative. “Please make yourself comfortable.”

“Thanks. Gosh, I’m so nervous – I’ve got an interview inside the coffee shop and I’m, like, twenty minutes early.”

“An interview?”

“Yes – for a nanny position. I sure do hope I get it. I love kids, and I really need the job.”

“I am sure it will be fine,” Spock said companionably. “You look very capable.”

“Thank you – I’ve got my degrees in child development and early childhood education – but I’m just so nervous, though.” She started biting at her fingernails as if to demonstrate. 

“You know, I was inside that coffee shop earlier and saw a young man with a baby – I wonder if he is your potential employer?”

She craned her neck to try to look inside the shop. “What’d he seem like – I mean, did he look mean or anything?”

“Not to my eye but then, I am a Vulcan and perhaps not the best qualified to interpret human emotion. I will tell you that he bore a remarkable resemblance to Commander Kirk – you know of him I presume, from the Kelvin incident?”

“What? No way.”

“Do you suppose it might be him?”

“I – I – I – I don’t know. I mean, the agency didn't really give me much to go on, I mean –“ her voice trailed off as she peered in through the window. “Holy cats, it is him.”

“I am confident you will have nothing to be concerned about,” Spock assured her. “Surely the press and paparazzi are already growing tired of the story.”

“S-story?”

“Oh, you know, the brave young hero who saved hundreds of lives on board the Kelvin, only to find that his pregnant wife was one of the unfortunates who did not survive the attack? The story of a young life cut short is not that very interesting to the press these days.”

“Uhhh–“

“I am also sure you will not have to worry about defending the children against unstable citizens obsessed with the Lieutenant’s story. What are they called – hunter? Hawker?”

“Stalker? You think he has stalkers?”

Spock made a dismissive noise with his lips. “Of course not – it’s been weeks. These things are not known to fester in the imagination of the less stable members of this society, not at all.”

“Yeah. Um…” The young woman rose from the bench and hefted her bag over her shoulder. “I’m gonna go.”

“What about your interview?”

“I don’t think I’m right for this job – I’m gonna go and call the agency.” With that, the young woman hurried away down the block.

Spock allowed himself a small feeling of self satisfaction – one down, and three to go.

\----

Spock sat in a light meditative state in the small efficiency in Pacific Heights he’d found when he arrived on Earth a month ago. It was little more than a closet with a twin bed and a small table, but the view of the Golden Gate Bridge was stunning and reminded him of the apartment he and Jim shared after they were first married. Being back in San Francisco after so many decades was bittersweet for him, indeed more bitter than sweet at times, but he long ago learned how to cope with his personal losses.

As he meditated, he attempted to sort through his feelings on the events of the day, and on the crimes and misdemeanors he’d had to commit to bring him to this point. He regretted hacking George Kirk’s communications account in order to send false cancellation messages to two of the nanny applicants, as well as misleading the young woman outside of the coffee shop. He was ambivalent about the hacking he’d had to do in order to create a false identity for himself in this timeline – for someone with his unique circumstances, it was almost a necessity. He did not, however, lie about his certifications, which he had acquired legitimately, if on an accelerated program compared to humans. 

Especially this child.

Still, he had no guarantee that he’d be hired as nanny to the Kirk family – there was one other appointment that he’d been unable to sabotage. He’d seen the young woman, and she appeared capable enough, chatting easily with George and appearing to have an answer to all of this questions. Spock had observed it from his seat outside the coffee shop, though he was not close enough to overhear. 

Spock opened his eyes – meditation was doing him no good this evening and the uncertainty he felt was not helping. He wasn’t sure what he would do if he did not secure the position. He just knew that he must. He had to protect them, he had to be there if Nero appeared.

He fingered the locket he wore around his neck thoughtfully. _He must not fail_.

He was interrupted when his comm chirped. He unfurled his aging limbs from the meditative pose he favored and rose, answering it on the third ring. 

“Selek, hello,” George Kirk said, smiling out at him from the handheld unit.

“Greetings, Lieutenant.” 

George looked slightly taken aback to be addressed like that out of uniform, but brushed it off. “Good evening – I hope it’s not too late to call?”

“It is not.”

“Good. I wanted to call as soon as possible, to offer you the job.”

“That is very quick to make a decision – are you certain?”

“Uh, yeah. Funny thing – three of the other people I had lined up to interview just kind of flaked out, and the other one – well, I just liked you better.” He smiled sheepishly. 

“That is gratifying.”

“Look, I dunno about your schedule, but do you think you can come by the house tomorrow? I know it’s Saturday and everything, but I need you to start on Monday, and, well, it’d be good if you met the boys on their own turf and all…”

“A sound strategy. What time do the children rise?”

“Sam’s a bit of a slug, but Jimmy’s usually up with the birds.”

“I shall be there at sunrise. It would be most beneficial if I could observe them in the course of a normal day’s events, so that I might be able to maintain consistency. Children do best when a routine is closely observed.”

George rubbed the back of his neck with a large hand. “If you think it’s best.”

“I know it is.”

 

**Stardate 2233.95**

The Kirks lived in a townhome near Starfleet Headquarters in an area set aside to provide affordable lodgings to officers with families. The house, which looked to have been built during the Victorian era, was comprised of four stories, the first of which had been taken up by a garage. The home itself was painted a cheerful yellow, decorated with wooden flourishes painted blue, and large windows in the front. A single light burned within, though not in the front room – Spock surmised it originated in the kitchen.

He climbed the steep steps in front and knocked on the front door. The door swung open moments later to show George Kirk standing before Spock wearing sleep pants and a loose t-shirt, yawning.

“Good morning,” Spock said.

“Sorry,” George said, scratching at the growth of beard on his cheeks. “Had a rough night.” He stepped aside and let Spock enter, then led him back to the kitchen. “Can I get you some coffee?”

Spock was not surprised to see an old-fashioned French press in use – Jim had always favored them when they were on-planet – and agreed to a small cup, black no sugar.

“Didn't think Vulcans would be into coffee,” George observed as he poured.

“It is something for which I acquired quite an affinity,” Spock said, “though I normally drink tea.”

“I’ll have to be sure to have some in the house.”

“I can replicate it when necessary,” Spock said, indicating the replicator unit in the corner.

George frowned. “If you like – I guess it’d be OK to put the thing to use for once. My wife never liked to use it when we were dirtside.”

Spock noticed that, indeed, the dispenser area of the replicator currently housed a pot of geraniums. “So I see,” he said, amused. 

They drank coffee in silence for a few moments, but were interrupted by the sound of a baby stirring. George set his cup down and moved over to the house’s internal communications system, checking on his son on the small vidscreen. “Looks like it’s go-time,” he said to Spock before leading the way out of the room.

The nursery was on the third floor, a tidy and bright space whose ceiling was slanted at the far wall along the roof line. George went immediately over to the crib, where he stood smiling down at the squirming body lying inside it. “Well, good morning,” he said fondly, his voice raising almost a full octave.

The baby kicked his tiny legs and waved his arms excitedly until his father picked him up. George carried him over to the changing table, where he quickly (and rather expertly Spock noted approvingly) changed his nighttime diaper, demonstrating where Spock would find all of the supplies when it was up to him to do it. He next got the baby dressed in a tiny pair of denim pants and a command-gold _My Daddy’s in Starfleet_ t-shirt and handed him off to Spock.

“You mind taking him? I’m just going to grab the laundry.” He shoved the baby at Spock then went about removing the linens from the crib.

Spock held Jim under his arms and stared into his tiny face. He was, simply put, perfect, with smooth, chubby cheeks, a bow-like mouth, bright eyes that sparkled with constant mirth, and a head covered with downy hair so pale and fine he appeared to be bald.

“Hello, James, I am pleased to make your acquaintance,” Spock said, and swung him from side to side gently. The baby’s head leaned to the side and he regarded Spock with open-mouthed awe. They stared at each other for several beats until Jim smiled, then laughed, then began kicking his short legs.

“I think he likes you,” George said approvingly as he walked past with a basket full of soiled laundry.

Spock held the baby close against himself and followed George down the stairs, where the latter demonstrated the preparation of a bottle of formula and handed it over to Spock. Spock took a seat at the kitchen table and cradled Jim against himself, offering him the bottle. The boy drank hungrily, making soft and eager noises as he did, his eyes never leaving Spock’s.

“So how’s it feel, Selek?” George asked, having returned from starting a cycle on the clothes cleaner to stand in front of Spock. He handed Spock a burping cloth.

“Not at all strange,” Spock answered, to George’s delighted laughter.

“Daddy?” a sleepy voice said from the door to the dining room, and Spock turned his head to see a young boy standing there, clad in footed pajamas and rubbing his eyes tiredly.

“Hey, Sammy!” George said cheerfully, and went over to him. 

“Who’th that?” the boy lisped, regarding Spock with suspicion.

George got down on one knee to address his son. “That’s Mr. Selek, your new nanny. You remember, I told you all about him? He’s going to look after you guys when I go back to work next week.”

“I thought you thaid he’th coming Monday?”

“Yeah, well, today’s like a training exercise, you know?”

Sam nodded solemnly, but kept his eyes on Spock. “Ith he gonna be here all day?”

“Probably until lunchtime or so. Why don’t you go on over and say hi?”

Sam’s response was to hide himself from Spock’s line of sight behind his father’s shoulder. “Sammy, come on,” George said, trying to coax the boy into the open, but he would not be budged.

“Do not worry, Commander,” Spock said. “There will be ample time for us to become acquainted with one another.” He looked over at Sam, who began to peek out from behind his father. “A distrust of strangers is prudent and necessary, young man. You have good instincts.”

“Well, who wants breakfast?” George fixed them all eggs and toast with butter and jam, and made a fresh pot of coffee. When they were done, he sent Sam up to his room to get dressed while Spock insisted on doing the washing up in an old-fashioned farm sink that had actual running water in it. 

“Sorry about earlier,” George said. He was seated at the kitchen island with Jim in a small baby seat, dangling a set of large plastic beads before his face. “Ever since the Kelvin… well, Sam was staying with my folks out in Iowa, and when the ship was destroyed, there was no word about any of us, and the admiralty jumped the gun. They sent someone to inform the family, and now Sammy is really distrustful of strangers.”

“It is understandable,” Spock said, turning the water off and drying his hands on a towel. 

“I’ve been talking about the fact we’ll have a nanny around for weeks now, to get him used to the idea, but it’s like he thinks if he pretends it’s not going to happen it just won’t.” 

“He will come to accept it in time – how much time may be variable, however. Vulcans, luckily, are possessed of an innate patience when it comes to dealing with small children.”

“Well, here’s hoping some of that will rub off on me,” George said ruefully.

“From all appearances, you make a fine father.” 

“I’m glad you think so, but you hardly know me yet. Winnie – my wife – she was the real nurturer in the family.” He glanced sadly at the wedding ring he still wore, then rose to take his cup to the dishwasher, leaving Spock and Jim to stare at each other.

“Do not rebuke yourself,” Spock told George when he returned. “I am a child of mixed parentage – with a Vulcan father and Human mother – and I have grown not only to acknowledge their contributions to my personality and sense of identity, but to appreciate them.”

“Did you ever have children?”

“I was married, but we never chose to be parents – we did not feel we had the time or space in our lives, and it is something I have come to regret.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Do not be. My work as a childcare provider has been rewarding, and proves to be an adequate substitute, Commander.”

“Please call me George, Selek.”

“Very well. George – I spied a lovely park on my way over this morning – shall I take the boys out for a walk while you have the morning to yourself? I am sure there are many errands you have that will be made easier if undertaken alone.”

“You don’t have to ask me twice, Selek,” George said eagerly and headed for the stairs.

\----

The trip to the park was uneventful, and though Sam was quiet and withdrawn at first, he became more accepting of Spock’s presence when presented with the opportunity to play on a swing. Spock had used a length of cloth he’d found in the Kirk house to fashion a sling for the baby and held him close to his torso. Jim seemed comfortable and remained quiet until mid-morning when he became restive. Due to Spock’s touch telepathy, he was able to intuit that the child was hungry, so he called a temporary halt to the morning’s activities and they decamped to a park bench where he fed Jim a bottle and gave Sam a snack of sliced apples. Afterwards, they made a slow circuit of the park, then returned to the Kirk home by noon. 

He prepared lunch for Sam and another bottle for Jim, then sat down to feed the baby. When he was about half done with the bottle, an unmistakable rumbling in Jim’s bottom told Spock that attention must be paid to an urgent matter.

“Jim, I believe you have soiled yourself,” he informed the baby, who grinned up at him while formula streamed out of his mouth. Spock dabbed at his face and stood up.

“Sam, Jim has produced a bowel movement. I must take him upstairs to be changed. Will you be all right if I leave you alone here?”

Sam looked up at him, having jammed fully half his hotdog into his mouth, and gave him a muffled, “’m OK, Thelek!”

Spock stared at him for a beat, envisioning the boy choking on his lunch before Spock had even started this job properly. “Perhaps you had better come with me. Will you please masticate whatever food is in your mouth?”

“What’th mathticate?”

“Chew.”

Sam grinned, treating Spock to a view of the half-eaten hotdog; he suppressed a shudder.

Once upstairs, Sam played with a toy aircar while Spock took Jim to the changing table and unfastened his pants, then the one-piece t-shirt he wore as an undergarment. Undoing the baby’s diaper, he peeked inside and immediately covered him back up. “Captain, we have a Level 2 biohazard to contend with,” he remarked, amusing himself. He then took up some disposable wipes and cleaned Jim’s tiny bottom. He disposed of the soiled diaper and chose a fresh one, then searched around the workspace for the baby powder. Suddenly, Jim made a gurgling sound and Spock felt warm wetness on his wrist. Looking over, Spock saw an arc of yellow issue forth. 

“Have you urinated on yourself and on me?” Spock asked him seriously.

“He doeth that all the time! Lookth like you’ve been chrithened, Thelek! Ah-ha-ha-ha-ha!” Sam rolled around on the floor, clutching at his belly comically. 

“So I have.”

“I’m home!” came a voice from the front hall as George arrived.

Sam scampered out of the room and pounded down the stairs, shouting. “Daaaad! Jimmy peed on Thelek!”

Spock looked at Jim, who was making a game attempt at inserting his entire fist into his mouth, and raised an eyebrow. “When I vowed to stick by you in sickness and in health, this was not what I had in mind,” he murmured wryly. Jim grinned around his saliva-soaked fist.

Spock proceeded to remove the baby’s wet clothes and find him new ones, then left him in his crib while he went to the fresher to clean off his sleeve.

“So he got you, I hear,” George said to him, looking apprehensive.

“Collateral damage,” Spock replied, drying his hands. 

“Next time, try laying a wipe or another diaper over him – I think the cold air has an encouraging effect.”

“That is sound advice.”

“Hey, thanks for sticking around today, Selek – I got a lot more done than I normally would have.”

“It was my pleasure, George. Young Sam was quite well-behaved, and Jim has a serene quality to him that makes caring for him quite easy.” 

“So that means you’ll stay with us?”

“I was not aware there was a question.”

George looked relieved. “Not so much a question as my own insecurity – I thought for sure you’d back out when you experienced the reality of two young boys, and I like you. I mean, I feel like we could get along well, and it can’t hurt to have a Vulcan for a nanny – you guys are all so smart.” He smiled and his cheeks colored, reminding Spock of a much older James Kirk; he was relieved to feel nothing but nostalgia at the thought.

“What time shall I report for duty on Monday?” Spock asked, changing the subject.

\----

Spock returned to his small apartment after spending the remainder of the afternoon walking in Golden Gate Park. It was warm for early May, and he found the play of the sunlight on the waters of the bay to be calming, even for a Vulcan. After consuming a plain dinner of broth and _kreyla_ , he lit a stick of incense and settled in to meditate in front of the window. 

Inserting himself into the lives of the Kirk family was not something he undertook lightly, and he was not without some misgivings over the entire thing. Indeed, his younger self would have been appalled at his several breaches of temporal ethics. He rationalized it by telling himself he was an old man now, and given to far too much sentimentality.

This was not “his Jim,” this much was easy to accept and to compartmentalize. The baby’s blue eyes made it even easier for him to separate his feelings for his husband from those he felt for this child. And he did feel for this child, surprisingly, despite having only just begun caring for him and his brother. Spock supposed that was natural, though he would allow that he had not expected it to happen so quickly – almost from the moment he first laid eyes on George Kirk and his sons some weeks ago, when he’d decided to go through with this plan of his. Until that point, he had thought to merely hover just beyond their periphery, to be sure there were no threats to them, to protect them if necessary.

He must protect them – they were his family.

His thoughts strayed then, unwanted, to the reasons for his present circumstances.

 

**Stardate 2387.65**

Spock watched with more hope than was prudent as the missile holding the payload of red matter shot into the star in supernova, watched its progress until the brightness of the star became too much. It didn't take him long to realize that the speed at which the star was expanding had been underestimated – the red matter would not be enough, and Romulus would perish.

The star’s light was too bright for him to see and he was forced to black all viewports to protect his vision. His instruments recorded it, though – the planet, which had barely been half evacuated, falling victim to the star’s inexorable expansion. _Romulus shuddered._ It shuddered under the stress of being drawn out of its gravitational orbit, all its atmosphere burning off with shocking swiftness as the star grew and, finally, the planet cracked in half and was consumed. Spock bore silent witness, tears falling down his cheeks, the regret of his failure burning cold within him. 

A sensor on his instrument panel flared and he glanced at it. If he did not act again, the star would continue to expand, and though the red matter he’d shot into it would eventually speed the process of its death and make it collapse in on itself, it would not do it nearly quickly enough. It would threaten other worlds and other nearby systems. 

Rising, he rushed to the vessel that held the remaining red matter and prepared another missile. As he loaded the red matter payload within its warhead, he heard the red alert sound throughout the Jellyfish, and stumbled as the ship took a hit from some unknown force. Keeping his focus on the job at hand, he armed the torpedo, loaded it into its channel, and sent it down to one of the bays.

Rushing back to the Jellyfish’s bridge, Spock addressed several issues at once. First, he checked his shield’s integrity – holding at 90%, though still taking hits from an unseen opponent. Next, he ensured the torpedo was loaded and ready to be fired. Finally, he glanced at his ship’s external sensors to see who or what was the source of the attack, switching their outputs to his viewscreen.

The ship beyond was massive, and Spock recognized it as one of the newer Romulan mining vessels, designed to extract ore and other resources from asteroids and moons that lacked a breathable atmosphere. Spock wondered what it was doing here – such an operation would be impractical from space for Romulus. Perhaps it had been called home to assist with the planetary evacuation. Whatever the reason, it was now attacking the Jellyfish.

Spock opened a hailing frequency and soon an image of a Romulan swam into view. “This is Ambassador Spock of Vulcan – I am here on a peaceful mission. Please explain the reasons for your attack on my ship.”

“I am Nero captain of the Narada, and I refute your claim of peaceful intent. What did you shoot into our sun?”

“It was meant to slow down the expansion of the star, but it has failed, much to my regret.”

“Regret? _REGRET?!?_ ” Nero shouted. “You made matters worse – the star consumed the planet after you intervened.”

Spock maintained as peaceful a calm as he could, despite the fact he was badly shaken by what he had witnessed, and by his own failure. “I understand that from a certain perspective – “

“Perspective nothing, _Ambassador_ ,” Nero replied coldly, “you’re responsible for the demise of Romulus and you will be held accountable.” He turned his head and gestured. “Lock phasers and fire on my command.”

Spock saw that reasoning with a man who’d just witnessed the destruction of his home world would be fruitless, and he frankly did not care. What he did care about was dealing with rapidly expanding star that needed to be taken care of before it led to a chain reaction in neighboring systems. With time running out – he and the Narada would be subject to the gravity of the star very soon – and with his torpedo already loaded with red matter and locked in, he fired it. 

The Narada was well-defended for a mining vessel, with a full array of phasers that began to target Spock’s tiny ship with surprising precision. The Jellyfish, however, was far more maneuverable, and Spock easily avoided them, dropping beneath the larger ship and flying out through her trailing tentacles in a burst of near-warp speed that caught the Narada off guard. Before they could react, he was behind the ship and away. He laid in a course on a parallel trajectory from Narada’s and turned about, intent on recording what happened when the second torpedo hit the star. 

The star began to collapse, as he’d thought – much to his distress, his original calculations had clearly been wrong and he’d not used enough red matter. He watched the star for many minutes, but was soon spotted by Narada, which approached at alarming speed. With the remnants of Romulus at his back and the Narada before him, Spock took a chance and shot off in the direction of the newly-forming black hole that now lay at the center of the Romulan system. An exploding photon torpedo just in front of him made Spock swerve to avoid it, slowing him down. Narada was in hot pursuit, as Spock’s instruments and computer told him very patiently. Spock adjusted course but it was too late – he was caught and was being pulled backwards into the black hole’s gravity. 

Spock barely had the opportunity to process what was happening. The intense gravitational forces around the black hole would surely crush his ship before he even got close to it. He glanced at his screen and saw that the Narada, too, was falling to the same fate as he. 

Spock blanked his mind, preparing himself for death. He thought briefly of Jim, and reached up to finger the locket he kept in a chain around his neck, the one that contained Jim’s last message to him within on a holographic recording. It was his hope that soon his _katra_ might be joined with his spouse’s of the rest of eternity, though of course he had no assurance of that. The thought did offer him some comfort.

The Jellyfish’s lights began to flicker, the computer warning Spock of his imminent destruction in calm, unaffected tones. He switched it off of audio and fixed his eyes on the stars arrayed before him; if this was going to be his last moment, he thought it fitting it should be spent in sight of them.

The space around him lit up, and Spock could see great bolts of what appeared to be lightning arcing across the heavens and around him. The bolts flashed silently but constantly, some of them so intense they caused Spock’s vestigial eyelid to close itself protectively over his eyes.

Suddenly, the Jellyfish seemed to shudder to a stop, then just as suddenly flipped itself over. Spock sprang back into action, trying to right the ship as, with one more bolt of lightning, he felt the ship propelled forward again. A quick check of instruments told him the black hole was no longer as close as he thought it was. He looked around himself – these were not the same stars he had left. He switched the computer back to active mode.

“Computer, what is our location?” he asked

The coordinates the computer provided indicated the ship had somehow been transported to the other side of the galaxy, near the Klingon Neutral Zone, but well inside Federation space. A flash of something off on his starboard side caught Spock’s attention. He turned the Jellyfish and had a look, then magnified the viewscreen to investigate.

There, several hundreds of kilometers away, was the Narada. She, too, had come through what Spock now realized must have been a wormhole created by the nascent black hole – though how long she had been here he did not know. Long enough to now be squared off with a Starfleet vessel that appeared to be of a configuration that Spock had thought was long decommissioned in favor of ships with more efficient warp engines. It occurred to Spock that, given what he already knew about the weaponry the Narada was outfitted with, the Starship would not stand a chance. 

Spock quickly laid in a course to intercept, opening his comm frequencies to monitor what was going on. What he overheard from the Starship – identified in its communications packets as the USS Kelvin – was that there was a warp core meltdown imminent and that its commanding officer had already ordered an evacuation of all personnel. 

“The Kelvin?” Spock said aloud. “She was decommissioned in 2250. Computer, please ping the nearest Federation outpost and report the star date.”

“Working… The current stardate is 2233.4.”

Spock’s mind reeled – not only had the wormhole taken him and the Narada across the galaxy, it had sent him nearly 130 years into the past. Looking up, he saw the Kelvin’s crew begin to abandon the ship; first shuttles, then as they petered out, there were a number of escape pods that traveled in their wake. He realized that once the ship’s engines inevitably exploded, the survivors would be helpless before the Romulan vessel. 

Spock quickly brought the Jellyfish about and sped towards the two ships, opening a hailing frequency. 

“Spock, you bastard!” Nero said as soon as he came into view. “What have you done? Where the hell are we.”

“Nero, I believe the singularity that created the black hole also generated a wormhole in space-time. We were caught in its event horizon and have emerged near the Klingon Neutral Zone more than a century in the past. You must stop what you are doing or you risk altering the timeline from which we came.”

Nero looked to his second in command, who confirmed, “Sensors indicate he’s telling the truth, Captain.”

“You think I care about that? You think I care about anything but your destruction? I just saw my planet destroyed. Billions are dead, Spock, billions. I will never forget that pain, nor the man I hold responsible for causing it.”

“Captain Nero, the Federation ship has laid in a collision course,” the Romulan Second reported.

A quick check of his instruments confirmed that to Spock as well. 

“Sir, if its warp core explodes this close to our position, we’ll be crippled –“

“Let them come, they cannot hope to destroy us.”

“Brace for impact!” the Romulan Second’s voice could be heard calling out to his crew.

Spock glanced at his display – the Kelvin was fifteen seconds from impact, fourteen. Suddenly, there was a flash of light from the starboard side as a lone, remaining escape pod was shot off into space.

Nine seconds. Seven. At three seconds from impact, the Kelvin’s warp engines were finally overtaxed, and the ship exploded within the long, trailing tentacles of the Narada, severing many of them. The explosion wracked the huge ship, and its shock waves propelled the straggling shuttles and escape pods from the Federation ship before it, scattering as if they were toys. 

Spock longed to offer aid to them, but he was leery of affecting the timeline any more than the actions here today already had. Reluctantly, he turned the Jellyfish away, laying in a course and preparing to go to warp, to put as much space between him and the Narada as possible.

Before he could engage the engines, the channel to the Romulans sputtered back to life. There were red alert lights and smoke pouring from somewhere on the bridge, but still Captain Nero sat in his command chair, staring menacingly at Spock. 

“Spock,” he said, his voice a rasp from the smoke on the bridge, “I swear I will hurt you for this. I will find you, and I will take you apart piece by piece.”

“I am not afraid of what you will do to me, Nero.”

“Aren’t you? Then what about everything you love? I will strip it all from you as you have done to me. Who do you love, Spock? Who would you protect? Who is vulnerable one hundred years in your past? Your planet? Your friends? Your family?” Spock flinched at his words, and Nero picked up on that. “Your family, that’s it. Well, I’ve got one hundred years to track them all down, Spock, maybe starting with that famous Captain bondmate of yours. Think of your life without him, Spock, then think of how your life will be _without ever having met him._ ”

“You would not dare.” The concept was so abhorrent to Spock he could barely speak.

“Perhaps not. Is he even born yet? Perhaps his mother will meet an untimely end, who can say – the galaxy’s a dangerous place.”

An explosion cut off the communication, leaving Spock shaking and with his hands on the controls of the Jellyfish.

**Stardate 2233.95**

Spock emerged from his meditative trance feeling more unsteady than he had going into it. The experience with Nero was not one he was comfortable reliving, but it was natural that he should reflect on it given the events of the day. Being close to the Kirk family brought it all to the forefront of his mind.

After the incident with the Narada, Spock hid the Jellyfish away and had decided that he would remove himself to one of the outlying Federation colonies, when news of the Kelvin disaster broke through on the wider media. Spock, of course, would have had no reason to know that the heroic commander who’d sent the ship on its collision course with the Narada before escaping at the last second was George Kirk. Nor would he have known that Winona Kirk, seven months pregnant, was also on board the ship. The tragic story was almost all the media latched onto in those first days – young couple cut down in their prime, the only survivor the prematurely-born baby that was the product of their love. And when the news broke that George had survived, it turned into an even larger circus.

Spock did not believe in fate, but he did believe in consequences, and he believed himself to be responsible for the turn the Kirk family’s lives had taken. With Nero’s words still fresh in his memory as well, he’d been seized with an illogical need to protect the young family, and made his way instead to Earth. 

He arrived perhaps a day after George had, and watched news coverage of the shell-shocked young father emerging from the shuttleport with his newborn son cradled protectively in his arms, a Starfleet blanket covering the baby’s face. It did not take him long to determine where in the city the Kirks lived, and soon Spock was a near-constant fixture in the background. If Nero was going to make a move, or send an assassin, Spock was going to be there to intercept. This plan was far from ideal, but until a better one presented itself, Spock would keep it up. And then one did, when he overheard George asking a young Andorian woman if she was a nanny, and how he might go about securing one.

From there, it was quite easy for Spock to proceed. The falsified background was simple enough to invent, or at least most of it was. Falsifying a Starfleet career and documenting it was slightly more challenging, but not impossible. Perhaps the most taxing thing had been securing the nanny certification. The program required a minimum of four months’ coursework – time Spock did not have – but he was able to talk them into allowing him to take the course online, owing to his Vulcan intellect. He finished in less than two weeks and scored a perfect score on the examination. He then hacked into the nanny agency’s database to ensure his would be among the names and CVs presented to George when the young man was ready to go back to work at Starfleet HQ.

He would pause to be appalled at the lies and manipulation he was apparently capable of, except that the urgency he felt to protect the Kirks helped him to justify his behavior. He’d meditate on it if he thought it would do him any good.

 

**Stardate 2233.97**

Spock arrived at the Kirk residence as agreed at 07:00 Monday morning to find all lights in the house were already on. Once inside, he found a chaotic tableau set in the kitchen. Sam was shrieking incomprehensibly into a bowl of oatmeal, his small face even ruddier than usual. Jim, disturbed by the noise, was whimpering against his father’s shoulder. George, already dressed for the office in his Starfleet dress uniform, tried to console the baby while reasoning with his other son that he needed to eat his breakfast.

“ _Nam'uh ralash-fam_!” Spock said in a loud voice.

Three sets of blue eyes looked at him, shocked – though to be fair, the baby was already facing in his direction.

Spock straightened the front of his tunic and raised his chin. “May I be of assistance?”

“Thank God you’re here, Selek, this morning has been so crazy,” George answered breathlessly. “I can’t get Sammy to eat his breakfast, and my meeting with Captain Royles was moved up to 7:30 from 9:30, and if I don’t leave in the next ten minutes, I’ll be late and now I have to ask you to take Sam to school, is that OK?”

Spock blinked. “Affirmative.”

Relieved, George deposited Jim into Spock’s arms and walked past him towards the front room.

“George, you may want to reconsider this uniform,” Spock told him, turning.

George looked uneasy. “Why, does it not fit right? I didn’t think I lost that much weight..”

“The fit is adequate. I was referring to the stream of baby vomit cascading down your back.”

George groaned in frustration and ran up the stairs to change. 

Spock next turned to Sam, who had been watching the exchange with interest. “Is that your breakfast?” he asked the child.

“Yeth.”

“Have you finished it?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“It’th yucky.”

Spock looked at the bowl of now-congealed oatmeal with distaste. “I see. Was it ‘yucky’ when your father prepared it for you?”

“No.”

“What has changed?”

“It’th yucky.”

Spock stared at the boy uncomprehendingly. “Would rewarming it render it less ‘yucky.’?”

Sam stared back at him.

“That question should not pose quite such a quandary, Sam.”

Sam continued to stare.

“What if I prepared you cinnamon toast?” 

“Ith it yucky?”

“I assure you it is anything but.” Cinnamon toast was a childhood favorite of Spock’s, and his mother would go to great lengths to import the spice from Earth. 

Sam nodded, and Spock went about preparing it for him, after first setting Jim down in the baby seat on the kitchen island. By the time George came back downstairs, Sam was munching happily on the toast and Spock was distracting Jim with a colorful set of plastic circus animals that had been strung together arm-to-arm like a chain.

“So that’s what a peaceful family breakfast looks like,” George observed. He stood in the doorway of the kitchen with his hat under his arm, looking every inch the Starfleet officer.

“One of many more soon to come,” Spock replied.

“Daddy?” Sam said.

“Yeah champ?”

“You got to go?” Spock took note of the tears in the child’s eyes, and the way his chin quivered.

George knelt down in front of his son’s chair and ruffled his hair, and spoke in a quiet voice, “Sorry, kiddo, I do. But so do you, soon – to go to school. And before you know it, it’ll be the end of the day, and you’ll be home, and I’ll be home, and we’ll be right here.”

“How thoon?”

George removed the chrono he wore on his wrist, set something, then handed it to Sam. “See that timer there? I’ll be home before the time runs down to zero. You have my word. OK?”

Sam nodded wordlessly, staring at the thing he held in his sticky-buttery hands. George rose and kissed him on his head, then went and did the same to Jim. Looking up at Spock, he smiled in a lopsided way that reminded Spock so much of his own Jim he felt a pain in his stomach. 

“Guess I’d better be going,” George said, backing out of the room through the door that led down to the garage and the aircar he kept there, looking like this separation from his family hurt him more than he would be willing to admit.

“Sam, what have you there?” Spock asked conversationally, having come to the table to clear away the breakfast dishes.

“My daddy’th chrono. It thayth when he’ll come home,” Sam said in a small voice.

“Ah. You must wear it, then, so that you do not lose it.” He reached out for the chrono and helped Sam fasten it to his small wrist. Even on the last fastener, it was too large, swinging around loosely, so Spock found a bit of twine in a kitchen drawer and made it more secure. “There, now you may look at it all day and know when you will see your father again.”

Sam’s smile was bright and proud and happy as he ran up the stairs to get dressed for school. 

\----

Spock returned to the Kirk house with Jim after dropping Sam off at school to find the kitchen looked like a whirlwind had hit it. “Was this how we left it?” he asked the baby in his arms, who merely stared up at him with wide blue eyes and grinned. “As evasive as ever, I see, Jim,” Spock said, then set about cleaning up.

Once he’d done that and set Jim down on the floor to play beneath a suitably stimulating mobile, he went to the computer terminal that was set into an antique desk in the living room. Turning it on, he bypassed the login that George had set up for him and inserted a data chip that installed a security subroutine of his own devising. It tapped into security vidfeeds in the surrounding neighborhood, and Spock had programmed it to alert him on his personal comm device if anyone who might pose a threat to the Kirks came close to the house, within a half mile radius. If Nero dared to send an assassin here, Spock would know of it, although since the local security systems could only scan for Vulcanoid lifeforms, he was sure he’d be hit with a number of false positives in a city with such an interplanetary population as San Francisco.

The next thing he did was to hack into George’s account on the terminal, being careful to backdate the logs so that it looked like the access had happened when George was at home. He’d set up a number of news and information feeds on his own PADD and the terminal in his home, scanning for any reference to alien ships or mysterious disappearances and attacks out in the galaxy, hoping to be forewarned of any movements by the Romulan ship. He hadn’t had much hope that anything concrete would come through, but with access now to the resources afforded a Lieutenant Commander with a Level 2 security clearance in Starfleet, he would be able to keep better track. 

He should not have been surprised that George had already set such a query up. It was logical that the man who’d last commanded the Kelvin before it was destroyed, and who had lost his wife in the process, would be interested in news of the ship that was the culprit. Spock made a few tweaks to the search parameters to ensure a more accurate result and then ran them, sifting through intelligence reports and long range scans for clues of the whereabouts of Nero and his ship. He wasn’t sure if he was relieved or frustrated by the fact that Nero had apparently disappeared without a trace.

Spock realized the room was now silent and, glancing over, saw that Jim was asleep, his tiny fists curled up around his head. Going to him, he lifted him gently and took him up the stairs to his crib. He stirred briefly, but then drifted back to sleep. Spock stared down at him, allowing the fingers of one hand to trail lightly upon the child’s belly. In his sleep, Jim’s face became animated, mouth sucking and eyebrows rising as if in astonishment. Spock felt a stab of fondness well up within him and turned away.

\----

Crying babies were illogical.

Spock held Jim at arm’s length briefly, wondering what to do next. Thanks to his touch telepathy, he knew the baby was neither hungry nor wet. He was not in pain or any other kind of discomfort, yet he was crying. 

“There is no logical reason for you to be crying, Jim,” Spock said reasonably to even louder cries.

When Spock held Jim closer against his body, one tiny fist grabbed hold of his robes. Spock slid one hand lower to support Jim’s bottom, which resulted in a lessening of Jim’s distress. Finally, Spock began to sway back and forth, and the rocking motion seemed to do the trick - Jim's cries lessened further to mere whimpers.

Somewhere from the depths of Spock’s brain, came a snippet of memory long forgotten – nothing more than an impulse, an impression. He heard his mother’s calm voice, singing to him as a child, the words almost a sense memory. He sang them out, his voice off-key and too deep for the song, but he was alone here and did not think the baby would mind. 

“La, la, loo  
La, la, loo  
Oh my little star sweeper  
I'll sweep the stardust for you.”

The words were nonsense, but Jim quieted completely, rubbed his tear-stained little face into Spock’s neck, and was silent. 

Spock resolved to find a better lullaby for future use, but this one would have to do for now.

\----

Spock replaced the lid on the pot of potato leek soup he’d prepared for the Kirks’ dinner and glanced over at Sam in the living room. He’d left him watching a holo of a children’s program – he was allowed one hour of video entertainment per evening – but he lay on this stomach on the sofa, ignoring the program and staring at something cradled in his hands.

“Sam, do you not wish to watch your program?” Spock asked, walking through from the kitchen. As he got closer, he saw that the boy was staring at this father’s chrono. He’d taken it off of his wrist and was watching the time count down – if George’s estimation of his returning time was accurate, he had under fifteen minutes to arrive. “Your father will arrive on time, Sam,” Spock said gently.

“What – what if he doethn’t?” Sam asked in a small voice.

“If he is going to be late, he would call to explain,” Spock pointed out reasonably.

“But… what if he doethn’t, Thelek?” 

Spock sighed, knowing this line of conversation would be getting him nowhere. Fortunately, at that moment, the sound of the door to the garage opening could be heard from beneath the house, signaling George’s return. 

“Daddy! Daddy!” Sam cried happily, running through the door that led down to the basement garage with a loud clamor.

Moments later, father and son emerged, Sam sitting perched upon his father’s shoulders, chattering happily about his day at school.

“Good evening,” Spock greeted George, having returned to the kitchen.

“Hey, Selek,” George said with a tired smile. “How was your day?”

“Uneventful. I have prepared a pot of soup for your dinner – there is a green salad in the refrigerator. The children have been fed, and Jim has had his bath.”

“Really?” George said, looking as if he couldn’t quite believe it. He reached up and disengaged from the child that had wrapped himself around his head, setting Sam down on the floor; Sam scampered into the living room.“You didn't have to make dinner.”

“It was no trouble.”

“Will you join us?”

“Thank you, no, my duties here are done.”

George smiled that lopsided Kirk smile and Spock took his leave.

 

**Stardate 2233.123**

Spock soon fell into a routine with the Kirk family, arriving quietly at 06:00 each day to prepare breakfast, then making his way to Jim’s room with a warm bottle as the baby rose for the day. Spock would dress him, then cross the hall to wake Sam, ensuring the child was up and out of the bed before returning to the kitchen – he only had to make that error once, as Sam was a heavy sleeper and not at all what George termed “a morning person.”

George would leave with Sam by 7:45 – he insisted on taking the boy to school when time and schedule permitted – and Spock would spend an hour playing with Jim, who now as ever was at his most charming when he was well-rested and well-fed. When Jim went down for his morning nap, Spock would spend the time looking for any clue that Nero was about in the galaxy, so far without results.

The weeks turned into months, marked by the usual developmental milestones. Jim’s first foray into eating semi-solid food was quite memorable. 

“Jim, this is a sort of rice-based cereal, mixed with your typical formula to make it palatable. I believe you will find it more satisfying than the formula that typified your diet in your first five months of life.”

“Ba,” Jim replied. He then grinned and shoved his hand into his mouth.

“I will take that as your signal of readiness to begin.” Spock gathered a small amount of the rice cereal on the tip of the tiny, baby-sized spoon and held it out to Jim. “Will you not take it?” Spock asked.

Jim flailed his arms, knocking them against the spoon, spilling the food onto his highchair’s tray.

“I may have underestimated your ability to intuit this simple process, _ashayam_.” 

“Gheeeee.”

Spock refilled the spoon and held it out again, this time right against the child’s lips. 

“Muh-muh-muuhhhh,” Jim said, still not realizing the significance of the spoon that had been placed against his lips. Spock took the opportunity when the baby’s mouth was open, however, to push the spoon past his lips and toothless gums, depositing a small amount of cereal upon his tongue. 

“Muh-MAPHHH!” Jim said, clearly affronted.

“My apologies,” Spock said, but watched the baby’s reaction more carefully. 

Jim’s mouth moved and he eventually became aware that the material in his mouth had a taste and that it was one in which he was interested. The fact that he ought to swallow it came several moments later and nearly by accident. They repeated the process for as long as Jim would tolerate it, but Spock calculated an acceptable statistical probability that some of the cereal had made it into his stomach. 

“We will count that as progress,” Spock said before cleaning off Jim’s face and giving him a bottle. 

  


 

 **Stardate 2233.189**

Spock carried Jim and his stroller up to the front porch of the Kirk house and was surprised to discover that the usual security protocols other than the door locks had been disengaged while they’d been gone. He left a sleeping Jim in his stroller in the front vestibule while he investigated, Vulcan senses on high alert. When he got to the kitchen, he was surprised to find that it was because George was home.

He was even more surprised to see the man was slumped down in a chair at the kitchen table, a glass of whiskey clutched in his hand.

“You are home early,” Spock observed carefully. He walked back to the front of the house to retrieve the baby.

“I couldn’t stay there another goddamned minute,” was the reply as soon as Spock rejoined him, Jim still asleep in the stroller. George drained his glass and winced at the taste before adding, “I thought it was a better idea if I came home before I said or did anything insubordinate.”

Spock raised an eyebrow and George set the glass down on the table. “May I inquire what has angered you?”

George looked at him as if weighing what his next words would be. “Selek, you were in Starfleet, right?” 

He seemed to be looking for an answer, one Spock was willing to give. “I worked in Sciences on an exploratory mission,” he answered – not a lie, but not the full truth either, even if his falsified personal history backed it up.

“Some of those missions… were of a sensitive nature?” 

It was a question, Spock was sure, but it felt like a plea. “I was afforded Level 2 security whilst I served, if that is your question.”

George looked mildly impressed with his elderly nanny. “Oh, OK then. OK.” He clutched at his glass, raised it to his lips, but it was empty. He stared at it. Spock took it from him and filled it with water from the tap. George grimaced, though Spock thought it was supposed to be a smile. “How much do you know about the Kelvin?” George asked at last, staring at the table.

“Only what was reported in the news at the time. The ship was attacked by an unknown enemy, the Captain killed, leaving you in command. You set the ship on a collision course to cover the retreat of most of the crew before taking an escape pod yourself.”

George nodded, his face pale. When he looked up, Spock knew he wasn’t really seeing him. “What they didn't say was that there was only the one ship – one massive ship. They didn't say that their weapons were so advanced, they tore through our shields and hull like a hot knife through butter. What they didn't say was that they were Romulan.”

Spock raised an eyebrow, relieved that, as a Vulcan, that would be the extent of his expected reaction. “Romulan? Did they give a reason for their attack?”

“They were looking for someone – an Ambassador Spock, a Vulcan. You’re from Vulcan – have you ever heard of this man?” 

“I have not.”

“Neither had we. When that became clear, when Nero didn't get what he was looking for, he killed the Captain, just like that.” George snapped his fingers. “It was brutal – horrible. We were a Science vessel, Selek, we weren't expecting combat. We had students on board – children. My wife.” 

“You do not have to relate the rest of the story,” Spock said, but George went on.

“She was an astrophysicist, did you know? We were looking at this strange phenomenon – like a lightning storm, but in space. When the Romulan vessel attacked, the section she was working in took heavy fire. She made it out on a medevac shuttle, but she was hurt too bad. She… she begged the docs to save the baby, to save Jimmy, so they did. He was two months premature. 

“I got out, but the comms on the escape pod were fried. I drifted in space five days before a passing Ferengi freighter found me. Took another two days before they could get me to a Starbase, before I got any news. She was dead a week before I even knew.” When George blinked, the tears in his eyes fell.

“And they told you you had a new son,” Spock said.

George smiled. “Yeah, that’s right. He saved my life, I think, because I had to see him, I had to make sure her son grew up, both her sons. I named him after her dad.”

They remained silent for several moments while George composed himself. He drank his water, took a deep breath, and continued. “They made me take compassionate leave when I got back – then gave me a desk job in Fleet Ops, which is when I hired you. And ever since I got back, I’ve been trying to get them to pay attention to what happened, to take it all seriously. We were attacked by a Romulan ship on the edge of Klingon space – what the hell does that even mean? And where’d they get that kind of weaponry? It’s unlike anything our intelligence has seen, and I know because I’ve got a buddy in the Intel service. But they’re ignoring me, all of ‘em. It’s like they believe their own PR or something.”

“Surely they are aware of the risks.”

“There are some who say it was a fluke, that the real target is the Klingons, that the Romulans are more interested in dilithium deposits on the home worlds than attacking the Federation. They say there’s intelligence about that too.”

“You do not believe them, then?”

“I don’t think we can afford not to!” George exclaimed, standing up. He looked self-conscious at his outburst, and both of them looked down at Jim, who still slept soundly in his stroller. “What’s all over his face?”

“Blackberries. I will bathe him later.”

“Anyway, as I was saying, I think they’ve got their heads in the sand, and it feels like I’m banging my own head on a wall trying to get them to listen. Lord knows what will happen if that ship attacks another starship, or hell, even a Starbase.”

“Or a planet?” Spock added thoughtfully.

“Exactly. The threat’s too great for us to sit around on our hands. We’ve got to do something.”

“What do you propose?” 

The simple question left George speechless. “We have to do something – not just Starfleet, but the Federation. Shore up planetary defensive grids, study what little we know about the technology, improve our intelligence-gathering capabilities.”

Spock observed him silently, fingers steepled in front of his face. “Then you will fail.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence, Selek.”

“It is too large a response to what many have already written off as a one-off. They will never fund it.”

George wilted visibly. “I can’t just give this up.”

“I am not suggesting that you do. However, there is a time and a place for emotional pleas, as well as for diplomacy. Might I suggest you adopt the latter tactic?”

“How?”

“I know a thing or two. But you must be prepared – these things take time and patience. Will you be able to persevere, even if it takes years, George?”

“Besides the captain and my wife, there were 115 people who died on the Kelvin, Selek. I can’t let them down.”

They were interrupted by a very audible fart from the baby, who’d awakened and was grinning up at them both, blackberry seeds decorating his bottom teeth.

“But I guess first I’ve got a diaper to change, eh?” George went over to Jim and bundled him out of his stroller, heading for the stairs as he babbled nonsense to the child. 

Spock watched him go thoughtfully before moving off to start dinner. He regretted that he could not share his knowledge about the nature of Nero’s appearance in this timeline, but of course to do so would be disastrous in so many ways. Spock had already breached temporal ethics too many ways – he wasn’t about to let anyone know about Nero’s (and his own) origins. On a more selfish note, though it was eminently illogical, he would not deny that he had played a part in causing Winona’s death, and he had no doubt that George would think that, if he knew the truth. Over the last months, Spock had grown quite fond of the man and his family, and he would regret causing George pain.

He also didn't think George would be very successful in convincing Starfleet to invest resources in upgrading planetary security – he’d spent too many years wrestling with that bureaucracy to think where would be a chance. But he did think that George seeking his advice would make his own inquiries into Nero’s whereabouts a bit easier. 

 

**Stardate 2234.3**

Spock flicked on the sonic floor cleaner and felt its vibrations travel up his arm. They were the only indication that it functioned, as it did so completely soundlessly. He pushed it forward along the pitted tiles of the Kirk family’s kitchen floor, the low-level magnetic field it was propelled upon making the action almost effortless. Spock liked doing housework, liked the way it filled his days with quiet purpose. His bondmate might have said he’d found his Zen there once upon a time, and it made him smile.

Presently, the reason the floors needed to remain spotless entered the room. 

“Sa-pah! Sa-pah!” Jim babbled excitedly, his way of pronouncing the name Selek thus far resisting all attempts at correction (and sounding too close to Spock’s actual name for comfort). He stopped crawling, rocking back on his knees and tilting his head up at Spock. He pointed at the windows and stared at Spock intently, drool making his chin shine nearly as brightly as his blue eyes. 

Spock glanced over and saw that a cardinal had alighted on the birdfeeder that hung from a hook under the eaves, and was calmly pecking away at the rich seed it found there. Spock switched off the floor cleaner and bent to pick Jim up, carrying him slowly over to the window seat beneath the window. It was a bright sunny day outside, and so Spock was certain that the bird could not see inside the house; nevertheless, he approached slowly. Jim wriggled excitedly in Spock’s arms as they got closer, his bare feet beating a slight tattoo on Spock’s hip. Spock allowed the joy rolling off of him to fill his mind momentarily before he raised his shields, more out of habit than anything else.

“Do you see the cardinal, Jim? _Cardinalis cardinalis_ \- can you say that? Can you say cardinal?”

“Bok-bok,” Jim replied in an awed tone, his generic word for bird. He strained more against Spock’s hold on him, arms outstretched as if he could float up to meet the tiny creature. As if on cue, the cardinal chirped, exciting Jim even more. Spock brought his other arm up to control Jim, but got as close to the window as possible so he could still see. A moment later, the bird flew away, and Jim waved. “Bye-bye. Bye-bye.”

“Bye-bye,” Spock echoed and waved himself. Suddenly, Jim turned to him and planted a wet, open-mouthed kiss on his nose.

“Was that entirely called-for?” he asked Jim, taking note of the string of saliva currently joining Jim’s mouth with his own nose.

Jim nodded, surprising Spock enough to cause him to bark out a single laugh. “Do you know how much happiness you bring me, my boy?” he asked as he turned his face to the side to wipe his wet nose on the shoulder of his robes.

Jim nodded his head yes; it was a game the entire family played with Jim – asking complicated questions which he answered in the positive or negative. Spock assumed Jim did it because he enjoyed the reactions he got from them, but he wasn’t so sure of that anymore. 

Spock kissed Jim on the forehead then bent over once more, setting him back down on the floor. Jim sat back on his knees and looked up at him, then crawled over to the window seat, where he pulled himself to a standing position, his hands bracing himself on the seat.

“Sa-pah!” he said, holding one arm out and keeping the other one on the seat for balance.

“I will not pick you up again, I have work to do,” Spock informed him. Jim made a whine of protest, but Spock shook his head. “We have your birthday party to get ready for tomorrow, Jim, and that can’t happen until the floors are seen to. If you will excuse me?” Spock turned around and went back to the floor cleaner.

“Sa-pah. Sa. Pah. Saaa. Paaaahh!” 

Spock could hear Jim muttering to him from behind him, his voice low, almost grunting, and not unlike the sounds he made as he produced a bowel movement. Expecting he would soon be in need of a diaper change, Spock glanced back at him…

To find Jim standing in the middle of the floor on wobbly legs, a look of utter determination on his face as he made his unsteady way over to Spock. Surprised, Spock whirled around to watch. Jim took one more uncertain step – one made no less difficult by the fact the baby was walking on the outer edges of his bare feet – and then swayed as if he might fall. Spock stepped forward to swoop him up, lifting him over his head before hugging him close. “Jim, you have just taken your first steps,” Spock said.

Jim giggled and squirmed to get down.

“Yes, it is a momentous occasion. However, I advise we do not inform your father, for it will disappoint him to learn he was not present to witness this. We will therefore orchestrate a minor deception so that your father might think he is witnessing this development milestone himself. No one but we two were here to witness this – do I have your agreement?”

“Sa paaaahhh!”

“Indeed.”

\----

Spock spent the remainder of the day preparing the house for the birthday celebration before leaving with Jim to pick Sam up from school. He spared a moment to reflect on how strange it was to be celebrating this day in January and not March, but he did not feel a stab of sadness due to such thoughts. Since he’d started in his position as caregiver to the Kirk children, he had had little difficulty separating the people he once knew – and were forever gone to him – from the ones he now interacted with daily. How ironic that the reason he had come here – to protect those he considered to be family and to whom he owed protection – had become the reason he could never leave. He loved them more than he thought possible, and would lay down his life to safeguard them, of that he was certain.

He was supervising Sam’s frosting of the birthday cake that the family would enjoy after dinner tonight – there would be a bakery-bought one for the guests the next day – when a small sound behind Spock got his attention. 

“Sa-pah, Sa-pah, Sa-pah!”

“Hey, Jimmy! You’re walkin’! Thelek, Jimmy’th walkin’!” Sam exclaimed. He discarded the offset spatula he’d been using to spread the chocolate frosting on the cake – though he’d managed to get nearly as much on himself as on the cake – and hopped down from his stool to dance excitedly around the kitchen. “He’th walkin’! He’th walkin’!”

Delighted with the attention, Jim clapped his hands together and promptly fell to the floor on his bottom, a joyful expression on his face.

Spock sighed – so much for his intention to keep Jim’s first steps under wraps until George could come home. “Sam, might I have a word?” Spock called.

Sam returned to the kitchen island and climbed back onto his stool. He looked up at Spock attentively, a ring of chocolate frosting adorning his mouth. Spock wordlessly wiped his face with a kitchen towel before speaking.,“Sam, tell me what you have witnessed here today.”

“Jimmy’th walkin’.”

“He is not.”

“He’th not?” Of course the boy looked confused, and Spock did not blame him. 

“Allow me to explain: the taking of first steps is a momentous occasion, one that families often commemorate by taking holos. It is an important occasion. I would like to arrange it so that your father is a witness to it.”

“But he’th not, Thelek, he’th thtill at work.” 

“Yes, but you see, if we do not tell him what we have seen, later when Jim takes another step, he will be convinced that it is his first.”

“But that’th lyin’, Thelek, and that’th wrong, you thaid.”

“I know what I said,” Spock replied, recalling the lectures on the subject he’d impressed upon young Sam on numerous occasions. “However, this is a small lie, what is known as a ‘white lie.’”

“Wordth can’t have colorth, Thelek.”

“I suppose they cannot, you are right. What I am referring to is the use of a falsehood to, as in this case, allow another person to feel good about something. It is not unlike your own belief in the fairy tale figure known as Santa Claus.”

“Wait, what?”

“That is unimportant. What is important at the moment is that your father believes he is seeing Jim’s first steps, do you understand?”

Sam regarded Spock solemnly for a long moment. “I do. But Thelek?”

“Yes?”

“He’th doin’ it _again_.”

Sam pointed across the room where Jim was once more on his feet, making his unsteady way across the floor towards the dining room.

That evening, Spock stood in the Kirk family kitchen putting the finishing touches on dinner. He had long since agreed to George’s wish that he take his evening meal with them, and the family had accepted the preponderance of vegetarian dishes he prepared as well. Sam, in particular, had a very adventurous palate, and surprisingly ate even the spiciest dishes, making Spock proud.

Spock had accumulated an array of Jim’s favorite toys on the kitchen island and, when George wasn’t looking, would waggle them where Jim would see, or “accidentally” jostle them so that they’d crinkle or squeak or make whatever noises they were designed to. Alas, it was in vain – at one point, Jim crawled over to Spock and began to pull on the hem of his robes, pointing at the toy he wanted. Spock motioned his hands at him, trying to encourage him to stand on his own, but George, happening by, lifted his younger son up so that he could snatch the toy up for himself. 

Spock sighed.

After dinner, Spock sat at the kitchen table with Sam as he practiced writing short words with a stylus on a battered old PADD. George sat at the other end of the table reading. A movement in his peripheral vision got Spock’s attention – Jim was standing in the doorway to the dining room, one hand clutching at the jamb. He did not appear to have noticed that he was the subject of Spock’s scrutiny. After a moment of standing – still balancing his weight illogically on the outer edges of his feet – he removed his steadying hand from the door and stood, unsupported, on his own two feet. Spock held his breath watching; Jim had the pink tip of his tongue sticking out in his concentration. He took a step, wavered, steadied. His center of gravity shifted and he ventured forward with another foot, swinging it forward slowly and with determination. He was wobbly – Spock didn't think he could sustain it, really – but soon he took another step, and another.

Finally Spock thought he could speak up. “Will you look at that – Jim is taking his first steps, George.”

George glanced over at Jim and smiled. “Cool, huh? He did it for the first time yesterday morning, as I was trying to get him dressed before you got here. Didn’t I tell you?”

Spock straightened his back in his seat. “No. You did not,” he said slowly.

George shrugged. “I meant to.”

“It is a momentous occasion for a parent, is it not?”

George looked at him for a long moment. “I’m sorry I didn't tell you, Selek. And I’m sorry you missed it.” He turned in his seat, plucked Jim from the floor, and settled him in his lap. “But now you’ve seen his second steps – that’s just as important!”

Spock relaxed, somewhat mollified. He had no call to be disappointed, none at all. 

\----

After dinner and pre-birthday cake – more of which wound up on Jim’s face than in his stomach – Spock emerged from Sam’s room, where he’d just put the boy to sleep after reading him two stories. Sam favored stories that anthropomorphized aircars and other types of vehicles, a preference Spock found most illogical, but if they engaged the child’s imagination, then so be it.

He crossed the hallway to look in on Jim before leaving for the night and found George standing over his crib. His face was illuminated from below by the dim light of the glowing star chart that was being projected onto the ceiling from the nearby dresser. As Spock drew closer, he saw that Jim lay on his back, the well-chewed ear of his favorite stuffed sehlat still in his mouth.

“Has he defeated Mr. Tufty, then?” Spock asked, allowing the fondness he felt for the child to creep into his voice.

George sniffled, and at once Spock sensed the sorrow coming from him. 

“You are experiencing emotional distress.”

“I promised myself I wouldn’t do this.”

“Do what?”

“Get all morbid when this day came.”

Spock understood immediately. “It is one year since your wife’s death.”

“Yeah, but it’s also Jimmy’s birthday. He – this should be a special and happy day for him.”

“It is a day of great importance, regardless. It is not wrong to remember those we have lost. It is how we do it that matters, George.”

“Still, it’s not fair that he’s always reminded that the day he was born was the day his mother died.”

“Then do not dwell upon her death. You must honor her life.”

More tears welled up in George’s eyes and he nodded his head. “I know, it’s just a little… hard. So soon after…” he turned away as he attempted to compose himself.

Spock shored up his shields before reaching out to lay a comforting hand on the man’s shoulder. “I grieve with thee,” he said simply, keeping his hand where it was until George had composed himself. 

“Thanks, Selek,” George said, wiping his eyes on his shirt cuffs as he turned around. “Does it ever get better?”

“Easier.”

“How long has it been for you?”

“Many decades.” Spock glanced at the baby as he spoke. “But I am reminded daily of him, and it has been a long time since that has caused me pain.”

“So long? I thought Vulcans lived a lot longer?”

Spock paused before answering, weighing how much truth to tell – he’d been successful at stepping around this topic until this moment. “My bondmate was human.”

“Really?” George cocked his head to the side thoughtfully. “That explains a lot actually.”

“Oh?”

“Well, you’re a lot more patient with us than any other Vulcan I ever met would be, and you show your emotions. Clearly you’ve been around a lot of humans.”

Spock raised an eyebrow. “I remind you I was in Starfleet for many years.”

“Yeah, but one of us has clearly rubbed off on you.” George took a deep breath and walked from the room. Spock lingered behind to make sure Jim was properly covered up and then left, pulling the door shut behind him. When he arrived in the kitchen, George was clearing out the dishwasher.

“It’s late Selek – why don’t you take the aircar home tonight – you’ll be back before I need it in the morning.”

“I thank you, but no. I have consumed chocolate this evening. I will walk as I customarily do.”

“Chocolate, really? So it’s true what they say about Vulcans?”

“I presume you refer to reports that chocolate causes inebriation in Vulcans and not one of a host of other assumptions about my race.” 

Spock’s PADD made a familiar, chiming noise, one it had not made in quite some time. Suddenly alert, he crossed the room to where it sat in a recharging cradle as George replied, “Naturally.”

“Then yes, it is true. Like any indulgence, it is best enjoyed in in moderation, but it has been quite some time and I am what you might term a ‘lightweight.’”

George laughed then, a happy sound after the upset of a few minutes ago. “Then stay in the guest room – it’ll be empty until my folks get here in the morning.”

Spock activated the PADD and saw it was the alert he’d set up months ago, to alert him should a Vulcanoid being enter the immediate vicinity. It had initially gone off quite frequently, but as he’d taught it to recognize those in the vicinity who were residents – all of them Vulcans – he’d grown used to it remaining silent. Perhaps it was a temporary visitor to one of their neighbors – but Spock was not going to take a chance that the intruder was Romulan.

“At any rate, I must be going – I believe that 40 Eridani A will be visible after midnight, and I am keen to view it with my telescope at home.”

George smiled. “Of course – you’ll want to see your home star. I’ll see you in the morning, then?” 

“You can count on it.”

Spock left soon afterwards, convinced George didn't really believe his assertions that he was going to be stargazing, but with little other alternative. The alarm was probably nothing, but he would leave nothing to chance when it came to this family.

He didn't have to travel far before finding the person who had set off his alert – there was a man dressed in the traditional hooded garb found at Gol standing at the corner mere blocks away. He was clearly Vulcan, and Spock would have thought him a visitor in the neighborhood but for two things: it was after 11:00 pm in a traditionally quiet, residential neighborhood, and the Vulcan was staring directly at Spock from the moment he left the Kirk house.

Spock stopped on the corner, across the street and regarded the Vulcan quietly. He felt a light brush against his consciousness suddenly and frowned. If the man was truly a Kolinahr adept, Spock would have felt nothing. Unless he was meant to. 

Spock walked across the street and stood before the man. “A fine evening,” he commented.

“Surely a man of your age is beyond the use of banalities as a form of conversation,” the man said.

“And a man of your apparent stature is beyond using insults by way of introduction,” Spock countered. 

“You are of the house of Surak.”

Spock made no reaction – the man could tell as much when his brain had touched Spock’s. “You are a V’Shar operative,” Spock said instead. It was a guess, but an involuntary twitch in the small muscles around the man’s left eye told him he was correct. Spock had not ever heard that the Vulcan intelligence services had employed Kolinahr mind adepts, but then again, he’d never had occasion to find it out directly.

A brief inclination of the head was all the response Spock would get. He moved closer and realized he knew this man, nearly said his name aloud. _Sakkhet_ , his father’s third cousin, who Spock had met on more than one occasion. Much later in life, he would be appointed head of the V’Shar.

He must have betrayed some small reaction, because Sakkhet’s eyes narrowed. “We share a family bond. Yet I do not know you.”

Spock knew better than to try to lie to this man, who would read it off of him nonetheless. “We are _skann_ , we are just not acquainted yet.” 

“You are not of his timeline,” Sakkhet guessed after a moment’s thought.

“Indeed.”

“Your presence here would alter events.”

“My presence here already has.”

“You must not remain here. The Bureau of Temporal Ethics strictly prohibits it.”

“I stay to prevent larger harm to the timeline, which I am certain the Bureau would object to, believe me. I stay here to provide needed protection, and that is all I will say.” 

Sakkhet regarded him expressionlessly for a moment. “That is insufficient to convince me.”

“And speaking to you here on the street is not very comfortable, either. My own domicile is not far, I you will accompany me.” Seeing the other man made no objection, Spock turned and led the way to his tiny apartment. 

Once there, Spock stood inside the doorway and indicated the small couch in the sitting room, “You have traveled far. Will you take your ease?” The words were rote, uttered whenever Vulcans entertained, and Spock took no comfort from them. He moved into the tiny kitchenette and prepared a pot of tea.

“I thank you for your hospitality,” Sakkhet said as he accepted a small cup. Bowing his head to Spock in thanks, he inhaled the aroma of the brew but did not drink. 

Spock indicated he could set it on the coffee table and sat himself down on the edge of a nearby chair. He had not brought a cup for himself. Without preamble – for they did not really need it any longer – Spock shared with Sakkhet those portions of this story that were relevant to his presence here: that he and Nero were swept through the wormhole at the same time, that the Romulan was bent on revenge, and that the target of that revenge was a part of the Kirk family.

“You believe this Romulan poses a threat to the Federation?”

“His actions against the Kelvin are proof of it. He is maddened by his need for vengeance.”

“You believe he would risk coming here.”

“His is a very personal vendetta. At any rate, I could not return to Vulcan, where my true origin would have been discovered. You have easily proven this. I could not risk polluting the timeline further.”

“Yet you came here.”

“I merely explain my actions, I will not defend them to you.”

“Your access to information is limited.”

“I must be satisfied with what I can glean from Commander Kirk.”

“Your placement within the family of a high-ranking Starfleet officer, however, can be of use to the interests of Vulcan.”

Spock raised an eyebrow. “I would not have expected you to be quite so mercenary, Sakkhet.”

“You do not know me.”

Spock was inclined to agree. He sighed inwardly, resigned to whatever role he must play. “I will do whatever is needed, but on one condition. You must share everything you learn, everything you know about Nero’s movements in this quadrant, even if they are unsubstantiated reports. I would know what you know.”

“I am certain arrangements can be made,” Sakkhet said, finally reaching for his tea. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The lullaby Spock sings to baby Jim is from “Lady and the Tramp.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Stardate 2238.4**

Spock roused himself from his meditative trance. As he aged, he found doing so to be reinvigorating, particularly given the variety of activities he squired the boys through in a given week. The timing was fortuitous as well – Jim was still young enough to require an afternoon nap, so Spock had taken to indulging in a light meditation as and when he could.

He opened his eyes to find Jim sitting on the floor opposite, perfectly copying Spock’s pose: kneeling back on his heels, back straight, and hands folded to a steeple before his face. Spock raised his eyebrow in amusement, then schooled his features into a placid expression. 

“Are you not supposed to be having your afternoon nap?” 

Jim opened his eyes and regarded Spock thoughtfully. “I am not sleepy.”

“An afternoon resting period is crucial to your development, both mentally and physically.”

“Can’t I just medicate with you instead?”

“The word is ‘meditate’, and I am uncertain you will be able to achieve the degree of focus required for it to be beneficial.” 

“But I can try.”

Spock inclined his head. “One can always try, if one does one’s best,” Spock agreed. “I will teach you tomorrow afternoon.”

Jim beamed at him and scrambled to his feet. Spock rose himself, rolled up his meditation mat and stowed it in the closet. He turned to Jim. “Shall we begin dinner preparations?”

Jim nodded.

“Very well.” Spock led the way to the kitchen and took several ingredients from the fridger as Jim climbed up onto a stool at the kitchen island.

“Whatcha makin’ Selek?” Jim asked in a hopeful voice.

As today was Jim’s birthday, family tradition held that the choice of what to have for dinner lay with him. “I believe you already know,” Spock replied.

Jim grinned. “S’ghetti and meatballs, my favorite!”

Spock nodded as he finished arranging all of the ingredients on the island opposite Jim and began to cut up three rather large eggplants.

“Selek – how come we call ‘em meatballs if there’s no meat in ‘em?”

“That is a very astute question. I believe it is a matter of tradition.”

“It’s very illogical.”

“Yes, it is,” Spock agreed, secretly pleased to hear these words coming from his young charge. He allowed himself a small smile; over the course of his time with the family, they’d easily accepted the transition to a vegetarian diet out of respect for his cultural sensitivities. He also thought, not for the first time, that if his old friend Leonard McCoy were here today, he’d accuse him of corrupting the morals of a minor. His smile widened.

“Are you going to watch me make them?” Spock asked, rolling his sleeves up. “Or would you like to help instead?”

“Oh, can I?” Jim asked excitedly.

“You are five now, Jim – it is time to broaden your skills.”

A short time later, Spock supervised as Jim scooped up portions of the eggplant mixture and rolled them carefully into balls, coated them in bread crumbs, and placed them gently on a sheet pan. They were of inconsistent size, and often lopsided or just plain flattened, but his concentration on the task was absolute, his tongue peeking out of the corner of his mouth.

“Mine aren’t as nice as yours, Selek.”

“You are just learning – you will gain proficiency with time. In addition, I believe those you have made will taste all the more pleasing for the effort put into them.”

“That’s illogical,” Jim accused, but he looked no less pleased for the compliment.

After dinner that night, but before the consumption of birthday cake, Jim opened his presents. Among many things, he got a kite from his paternal grandparents (“I had one like that when I was your age – we can fly it out at the beach,” George said); a set of building blocks from his father (“Lego never go out of style”), and a stack of some of Sam’s favorite comic books, well-used but no less cherished for having belonged to Jim’s older brother. The last gift opened was from Spock, who watched in what was, for a Vulcan, thinly-veiled anticipation but to anyone else looked for all the world like he might be constipated. 

Jim eased the adhesive from the wrappings in his usual, careful manner, and pulled the gift paper back carefully, slowly unveiling the item within. “It’s a storybook?”

“It is, Jimmy,” George said, picking it up. The binding along the bottom was a bit worn, but the gold lettering of the title on it was clear to see. “The Once and Future King by T. H. White.”

“Wow,” Jim breathed, though of course he had no idea what it was.

“It was my mother’s favorite book,” Spock explained. “She used to read it to me when I was small. I thought you might enjoy it as well, Jim.” Spock had seen the book in a vintage bookstore downtown some months before and, knowing what a vivid imagination Jim had, he purchased it immediately.

“Thank you, Selek,” Jim said, coming to him and hugging him. “Thank you, thank you, thank you.” His small hands couldn’t reach all the way around Spock’s body, of course, so he clutched at the fabric of his robes as his small face beamed with happiness. 

Spock fondly laid his hands on the small shoulders. “Who is ready for birthday cake?”

Later, Spock carried an exhausted Jim up to bed while Sam and George did the cleaning up. Once he was dressed for bed and duly tucked in, Spock settled beside him to read to him. 

The stack of comic books from Sam had been placed on the nightstand, and Spock reached for the one on top.

“No, can you read that? The book?” Jim asked, pointing at the leather-bound novel.

Spock laid his fingers on it. “This? Are you certain?” Jim always requested the bright colors and florid storytelling of the comic books his older brother favored, and Spock read from one of those on the occasions he put the child to bed.

Jim nodded and Spock sat himself on the bed, his back against the headboard and one foot trailing on the floor. Jim curled up on his side, his favorite stuffed toy, a sehlat, tucked inside his elbow, and gazed up at Spock as he began:

“On Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays it was Court Hand and _Summulae Logicales_ , while  
the rest of the week it was the Organon, Repetition and Astrology. The governess was always getting muddled with her astrolabe, and when she got specially muddled she would take it out of the Wart by rapping his knuckles. She did not rap Kay's knuckles, because when Kay grew older he would be Sir Kay, the master of the estate. The Wart was called the Wart because it more or less rhymed with Art, which was short for his real name.”

“Selek? I thought this book was ‘bout a king?”

“It is a fictional story about the ancient King Arthur of Briton.”

“Where is he?”

“Well, he’s just a boy for now. A boy not much older than you.”

Jim’s eyes widened. “They make a little boy a king?”

“If I answered that question, you would know how it ends. Do you want me to spoil the ending for you?”

“No, I s’pose not.”

“Very well. Now where was I? Ah!

“The Wart was called the Wart because it more or less rhymed with Art, which was short for his real name…”

**Stardate 2238.113**

Spock walked calmly along the street, on his way to pick up Sam from school. His awareness of his surroundings was no less acute than any other day, nor did he take any more or less interest in passersby than he normally would.

In spite of all of this, he knew he was being stalked.

A slight sound behind him caught his attention and he shifted his awareness to it. His keen Vulcan hearing was able to discern the several layers to the noise – the soft beat of sneaker-clad feet, a drawn breath. His pursuer was not equal to following a Vulcan, this much was clear, but they were doing remarkably well. 

A sudden, louder noise, a flurry of movement out of the corner of Spock’s eye, and his now-attacker was upon him with a shout. Spock stopped and stood in place, staring.

“Yoiks, what!” Jim shouted, jumping in front of Spock and brandishing the plastic broadsword George had bought him only the week before. “I have found you, Questing Beast!”

Spock raised an eyebrow.

“I have fulfilled my destiny, and that of my forefathers,” Jim continued. 

“Indeed you have, King Pellinore,” Spock said to him gravely. He bent forward at the waist, stretching his neck out. “You must take my head as a trophy.”

Jim straightened up and blinked, mock-ferocity forgotten. “What? No, I don’t want to kill you, Selek.”

“Oh, but you must, it is your birthright.”

Jim laughed. “Don’t be silly, Selek – King Pellinore would never hurt the Questing Beast!”

Spock straightened up again, his mouth turning up at the corners. “Indeed not. But Robin Wood might.”

“Oh ho!” Jim shouted. “How now! What!” He scampered off down the block in the direction of Sam’s school, waving his broadsword and looking for imaginary Merry Men behind every tree and bush.

Spock allowed himself a small chuckle. Jim’s obsession with “The Sword in the Stone,” the first part of “The Once and Future King” had developed into something truly epic. It was now April, and Spock had read a chapter of the book – or three or four – to the boy nearly every day since Jim’s birthday. His enthusiasm for the story seemed to be endless, a development Spock would have found alarming if George hadn’t assured him it was a normal thing for human boys Jim’s age. Such fanciful behavior would not have been tolerated in a Vulcan child, Spock knew, and he thought more was the pity that his peers had not been allowed to indulge their imaginations as children. Spock had been encouraged to by his human mother, but Sarek had only allowed it to go so far. 

\----

“Selek?”

“Yes?”

“How does this look?”

Spock looked up from the PADD he was reading and blinked. Jim stood on the tips of his toes, his small torso contorted into an S-shape, with his arms lifted, hands curled out from the shoulders and head pitched forward. He looked like he might fall over at any second. Sam, seated at the table doing his homework, rolled his eyes.

“Whatever are you doing?” Spock asked.

“I’m practicing being a bird, like Wart in th’ story.”

“I see. Is it giving you any insight?”

He straightened up. “It’s pretty uncomfortable.”

“But probably not for the birds.”

Jim cocked his head to the side, thoughtful. “That makes sense. I wish I could be turned into a bird.”

“I don’t know if that would be prudent,” Spock reasoned. “Who would teach you to fly?”

“You would.”

“I cannot fly.”

Jim grinned knowingly at him, a curious expression; Spock suspected the boy thought he was lying. “You can do anything, Selek,” he said simply.

“Perhaps,” Spock said, raising an eyebrow. 

Jim’s eyes lit up momentarily, and then became serious. “Of all the birds in the story, which would you like to be, Selek?”

“Why, a goose, of course.”

Jim walked over to Spock and climbed into his lap. “Really? Not a falcon? Or an owl?”

Spock sat back, setting the boy in his arms. “The geese have a highly developed and civilized society, with well-formed social contracts. They do not quarrel with one another, and they are content with the way their lives are laid out. I think we can do well to learn from them.”

“I like how they look out for each other,” Jim said after a moment’s consideration.

“What do you like about it?”

“Well, everyone gets a turn at it, don’t they? While all the families are eating or sleeping, the sentries keep watch. But the sentries aren’t the sentries all the time, either. They get a chance to just be regular. And no one cares one way or the other. Everyone can be regular, and everyone can be special.”

“On Vulcan, we have a saying,” Spock said, “that the needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few. Do you know what that means, Jim?”

Jim kept silent for long moments as he thought it through. “That you shouldn’t be selfish and want your way all the time?” he guessed.

“That is a very succinct way of putting it. Do the geese do that?”

“I think so. They all look out for the flock, they all take a turn, and no one feels bad or gets all bossy about it.”

“Indeed.” Spock was about to ask him about the meritocracy of the geese’s leadership when the front doorbell rang.

“Visitors!” Jim yelled excitedly and ran through to the front of the house. 

Spock pushed himself out of his chair, his joints creaking, and followed. He brushed past Jim – who was quite literally dancing in place before the door – and passed a hand over the security panel, disengaging the locking mechanism, then opened the door. 

And very nearly forgot himself when he saw the person who stood there. “Captain?”

Standing on the porch was a very – _very_ – young Christopher Pike.

“Who me? Not yet, I’m afraid,” he said, a smile in his eyes. He wore the red uniform of a Starfleet Academy cadet, including the hat, which he removed and shoved beneath his arm. He held out a hand, remembered who it was he was addressing, and raised it in a clumsy _ta’al_ instead. “Is the Commander at home?”

“He has not yet arrived,” Spock said, recovering himself.

Pike looked uneasy. “I guess he didn't call ahead either, judging by the look on your face. He said it’d be OK if I came over – he invited me for dinner?”

“Of course, please come in, Cadet.” Spock stepped aside so that the young man could enter.

“Hey there, little guy,” Pike said, spotting Jim, who stood beside Spock, gaping up at the newcomer.

“Who’re you?” Jim demanded suspiciously, eyebrows furrowing.

“Don’t worry, I’m a friendly. I’m your dad’s new assistant.”

Spock nodded as he recalled that George had mentioned he’d been assigned a young Starfleet cadet to assist him in his work. Three years before, George had finally convinced Starfleet to look into ways to shore up planetary defense capabilities in the wake of the Narada’s attack on the Kelvin and the threat the Romulan vessel represented in the quadrant. It had been slow going, but with a lot of determination and a bit of advice on diplomacy from Spock, he’d finally gotten some attention on the project. Apparently, things were looking up if he’d been given an assistant – though the fact that Pike wore cadet reds gave some indication of the project’s relative importance.

“Commander Kirk is not at home,” Spock informed him. “Would you like to wait in the living room?”

Pike held up a PADD he’d been carrying in his hand. “Actually, I need to charge this thing up – do you mind?”

Spock inclined his head and led the way to the kitchen, where the power station for personal devices was located. Jim trailed behind but would not come into the kitchen completely; he leaned against the wall on the opposite side of the door’s jamb with his shoulder, peering at Pike with open curiosity.

“Hello, what’s your name?” Pike said to Sam, who was still doing his homework. “Whatcha studying?” He took a seat at the table across from him and appeared to be legitimately interested.

“Geometry,” Sam said with a scowl. “And it’s stupid!” 

“Oh, I don’t know about that. If it weren't for geometry, we couldn’t navigate the stars, or design buildings, or build useful stuff like robots. You need geometry every day.”

“Nuh-uh,” Sam replied.

“Uh-huh. Want me to show you?”

Pike proceeded to swing his chair around so that he could help Sam with his lesson, using real world examples to assist him in understanding the concepts. Spock found himself reminiscing about his own experiences with the man when he was his commanding officer – many years in the future – and was satisfied to see so many of his positive traits already in evidence at this young age. 

His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of the garage door opening as George arrived home. “I see you beat me,” he said to Pike. He was laden down with grocery bags and Spock moved to help with them. “Sorry for not comming earlier, Selek,” he said.

“It is of no concern,” Spock said truthfully. The opportunity to see his old captain more than made up for it. 

“I thought I’d cook for us tonight,” George said to the room at large. “Give Selek the night off for a change.”

Sam looked up, excited – while the family had readily adapted to the vegetarian dishes that Spock favored and often prepared for all of them, whenever George had a craving for animal flesh, he also took it upon himself to prepare it.

Later, Pike was seated next to Spock when they sat down to dinner. “I must say, Selek, I was surprised to hear from Commander Kirk that he had a Vulcan for a nanny,” the younger man said. 

“What did you find so surprising, Mr. Pike, that I am a Vulcan or that I am a nanny?”

Pike laughed. “Both, I suppose. I guess I don’t picture a Vulcan – or to put it more accurately, the Vulcans I have known – being very patient with a pair of human boys.”

Spock leaned over to assist Jim with cutting up his steak. “Children are children the galaxy over, regardless of species, and patience is more a learned response than a cultural one.”

“A fair point. Then you must have learned it very well.”

“Many years among humans have provide me with a complete education,” Spock replied wryly. “I hope that I am putting it to good use.”

“I’ve got no complaints,” George put in.

“Me neither,” Jim added, grinning around a large mouthful of steak and steamed asparagus.

“Close your mouth when you chew,” Spock murmured, laying a fond hand on the boy’s shoulder. Jim nodded and complied.

“They seem to be well-trained,” Pike observed.

“They’re well- _loved_ ,” George corrected. “We’re lucky to have Selek in our lives, right boys?”

His answer was two enthusiastic nods. “’cept on chore days,” Sam said to general laughter.

After dinner, Spock did the cleaning up while the boys went off to play. Behind him, George and Pike settled themselves at the kitchen table with an array of PADDs. They were just beginning to continue the work they’d come here to do when Pike whispered, “Should we be working on this here, Commander? I mean, isn’t it kind of _classified_?”

Vulcan hearing being what it was, Spock could hear the entire conversation, but he pretended he did not and kept doing the dishes.

“If it was that classified, cadet, they wouldn’t allow either of us to work on it,” George replied, not without a trace of bitterness. His frustration at the apparent lack of concern with planetary defenses was well-known to Spock, who drew upon his many years as an ambassador to counsel him on diplomacy. Spock knew well how long and often tedious such initiatives could be. “The Admiralty’s more interested in an arms race with Romulus than with shoring up defenses. They had me in _again_ today to talk about payloads – did the weapons explode this way or that? How many components were there once the missiles fragmented. Like I was paying attention while they were blowing a hole through our starboard hull.” George sighed. “Anyway, we can trust Selek – he’s ex-Starfleet.”

“Really? I didn't think there’d been all that many Vulcans in the ‘fleet until just recently. What ship, do you know?”

“Deep space exploration, I think. Does it really matter when we’re up to our armpits in cost benefit projections? Where’s the Steubens Report, anyway?”

Spock wandered away as their conversation shifted to more mundane matters, shaking his head. He had not escaped the bureaucracy that George had been experiencing in his career, but it hadn’t been as ingrained in Starfleet as it apparently was now, some 40 years before Spock was going to be old enough to notice it. The plans George was putting forward were well-planned, their financing a bit steep but affordable for most Federation member worlds, and resembled similar ones that existed during Spock’s lifetime, when war with the Klingons had seemed more inevitable. He believed, along with George, that Nero was a force that needed to be reckoned with, and Spock especially feared the consequences of what would happen if the Federation did not.

\----

_"Good-bye," said Kay._

_"Good-bye," said Robin._

_"Good-bye," said Wart._

_"Good-bye," said Marian, smiling._

_"Good-bye," cried all the outlaws, waving their bows._

_And Kay and the Wart and the Dog Boy and Wat and Cavall and their escort set off on the long track home._

Spock stopped reading and glanced down at Jim and Sam. Both boys lay beside Spock as usual, with Jim nestled against his side, his small head reassuring and warm where it pressed against him. Sam had drifted off a while ago, curled up on his side with his face buried against the pillow, but Jim was still awake. He’d gone quieter than he normally got whenever Spock had arrived at this point in the story before. In it, Kay had been allowed to participate in one of the Wart’s adventures and had performed well, proving to be a brave and capable boy despite his shortcomings. Spock had been reluctant to read it before bedtime, as Jim typically got very excited by the action in the chapter. 

“Selek?” Jim said after some moments spent staring at each other.

“Hmm?”

“It was nice for the Wart to ask Merlyn to give Kay a ‘venture, huh?”

“Yes, it was very generous of him. It was also an opportunity.”

“You think I’ll ever get any ‘ventures, Selek?”

“I think you will have many adventures when you are older. More than your fair share, perhaps.”

The blue eyes turned more thoughtful. “Can you come with me?”

Spock allowed himself a smile, the one he reserved only for these boys. “Oh… I do not know if you will want me along. I would only remind you to brush your teeth before bedtime and to eat your salad.” 

“That’s OK,” Jim said after giving the matter some thought. “I would still want you there, even if you made me clean my room every day.”

“You will have your own friends with you.”

Jim shook his head as his eyes drooped tiredly. “Don’t want anyone else.”

Spock laid a hand on his head fondly, thinking, _You will._

Jim yawned widely and then closed his eyes. “No, I won’t.”

Spock blinked down at him. It was not the first time Jim had intuited his thoughts – the first time it happened, Spock had searched his own mind closely for any sign that the bond he had shared with his own universe’s Jim Kirk had reestablished itself in some way, but had found none. He wondered if Jim had any psi abilities, and resolved to ask George about having him tested. 

“Love you, Selek,” Jim murmured, and then he was asleep.

Spock merely brushed his overgrown bangs away from his forehead and sighed, reflecting on his life of the last five years. Given that he was a man out of time, he was gratified that he had a place here, and that he could make a difference in the lives of people he had never thought to see again. He loved Jim and Sam with a kind of fierce protectiveness that would rival any father’s, and he had similar paternal feelings for George as well. He considered himself fortunate to have been given this chance, and his only regret was that he could not tell them his true identity and the reasons he was here. Over the years, little word had come of Nero’s activities in the quadrant, but Spock knew better than to become complacent. But with such amiable distractions as reading bedtime stories and making sure little boys did their homework, it was sometimes difficult. 

Sighing, he rose, made sure both boys were adequately covered, then turned out the light and left.

George was in the hallway outside the door, leaning against the wall.

“Has Cadet Pike gone?” Spock asked, surprised to see him there.

George nodded. “We’ll pick up where we left off on Monday. Thanks for staying and putting the kids to bed.”

“It is always my pleasure,” Spock replied, moving past him and towards the stairs. 

“Selek?” George called when Spock was halfway down the stairs.

He turned around. “Yes?”

“We all love you, you know? Me and the boys? We’re lucky you’re in our lives.”

“I am gratified to hear it.”

\----

Despite it being spring, the night was cold and windy, and so Spock hurried more than usual on his walk home, his head down. So he was nearly on top of Sakkhet before he noticed the man standing on the corner a block from Spock’s apartment.

“Sakkhet, I did not see you there.” Sakkhet raised his hand in the _ta’al_ and Spock returned the gesture. “To what do I owe the pleasure of your company this evening?”

“You are too much in the company of humans, Selek. You and I both know you derive no pleasure from my presence.”

Spock sighed inwardly – the man was very nearly insufferable. “I was merely being conversational.”

“Illogical.”

“Yes. Did you have a purpose in coming here?”

“The planetary defensive grid project has been gaining momentum. We understand that Commander Kirk has a sponsor in the Federation Senate, and that his proposal is being considered for financing.”

Spock raised an eyebrow; he had not known about the funding – George had not shared that detail. “Was there a request forthcoming?”

“I would know what information you have about the content of the plans.”

“I fail to see how that affects Vulcan security interests,” Spock said.

“You do not need to. Our interest should be motivation enough for you to provide the required information.”

“On what grounds?”

“Duty. Logic.”

“I see. And not the political interests of the Vulcan High Council?” 

Sakkhet raised an eyebrow. “They are not mutually exclusive.”

Spock was suddenly reminded why he never pursued a career in politics. He walked past Sakkhet toward his apartment, the other man following. Spock didn’t bother to invite him in, knowing he would come anyway. Once inside, Spock made a pot of chamomile tea and brought it and two mugs into his small living room.

“I know no more of the plans for the defensive grids than the last time we spoke. You already know of the funding, I fail to see what else I might offer.”

“This is what brings me to you, Selek. The fact you did not alert us to the information is a cause for concern in some circles.”

“Some circles? Do you mean yours?”

Sakkhet shrugged. “I represent the High Council. My circles are theirs.”

Spock sighed. “To be candid, I fail to see how possession of that knowledge is relevant, nor why you require it from me, as you clearly already have other sources. For me to have obtained it might have compromised my position with the Kirk family.”

“You assume your position cannot be compromised by other means.”

Spock no longer cared enough about what this man thought about him to hide his anger. He raised his voice slightly, “Are you threatening me?”

“I am pointing out that your attachment to this human family borders on the sentimental – why you take such great pains to protect them is beyond the bounds of logic. Yet it is something you clearly place a high degree of importance on. As such, it betrays a weakness, it compromises you. _They_ compromise you.

“I would remind you, Selek – if that is your name – that as a Vulcan, we are all bound by the laws of our home world and that should the High Council deem it necessary, they can arrange to… repatriate any of us.”

Spock subsided, not willing to engage with Sakkhet on this matter further. He would not risk being removed from here, and for Sakkhet to make that admission now meant Spock must be on very thin ice. 

“I cannot give you what I do not have access to,” Spock said again, this time with weariness. “But it does not mean I cannot improve my… methods for intelligence gathering.”

Sakkhet’s expression barely changed, but Spock detected smugness there. He sighed and continued. “When we first entered into this arrangement, you promised to provide intelligence of the movements of the Romulan vessel in the quadrant. You have shared nothing in over a year.”

“There is nothing I may share.”

“But there is information?”

Sakkhet inclined his head. “Unsubstantiated reports of activity on the Klingon side of the Neutral Zone. They are less than rumors.”

Spock nodded, accepting it. “That is something, at least.”

“Here is something more,” Sakkhet said, handing him a small, black case no larger than a ring box 

Spock opened it up to find an innocuous electronic device inside. “A listening device?” he guessed.

“More than that – it will also record data streams undetected. Installed on the home network, it will access whatever information Commander Kirk has stored – or has access to – on the Starfleet network.”

Spock nodded his understanding – but he wasn’t sure if it was his agreement to do it. Sakkhet took it for that and left, his tea ignored.

 

**Stardate 2238.120**

Spock looked up from his preparations for the evening meal when he heard a great clattering in the front hall of the Kirk home. Rinsing his hands off and grabbing a hand towel, he walked through to find Jim seated on the floor, tying up his right sneaker with the kind of single-minded concentration that would make him such a formidable commanding officer when he got older. Arrayed around the boy was a collection of favored toys, including the plastic broadsword that was his near-constant accessory, and a small backpack out of which had fallen a packet of cookies, two bottles of water, and a beaten-up old PADD of Sam’s that Jim had inherited. Spock also spotted a crumpled-up throw blanket from Jim’s bedroom.

“What are you doing?” Spock asked neutrally.

Jim looked up, his eyes solemn. “I’m going on a quest.”

Spock paused a beat, recalling their conversation the week before. “What is it you seek?”

“My one true love.”

“Your true love?”

He nodded.

“Will you be back before dinner?”

“I think so.”

“Very well – try to keep to the yard if you can.”

Jim nodded and went back to tying his shoes, then packed his things back up and headed out. Spock found him an hour later curled up on the blanket and sleeping under the shade of the olive tree that grew in the backyard, hugging his sword.

\----

The next day, Spock woke with a slight headache coupled with a minor queasiness, neither of which were serious enough to cause him to miss work. Luckily, George had a late morning meeting and was going to drop Sam off at school.

“You don’t feel good, Selek?” 

Spock looked down at Jim. “I am feeling a bit under the weather,” he admitted.

Jim took his hand and led him to the living room. “You take a easy,” he said. Spock let him maneuver him around and then down into the soft easy chair he favored. “I will be the nanny today.”

“That is unnecessary.”

“’s logical,” Jim said and ran to the kitchen. 

Spock could hear a chair being dragged, followed by the sound of water running and cabinets opening and closing. There was the clink of crockery, the sound of a jar opening and closing. The homey sounds were almost soothing; he sat back in the chair and closed his eyes, letting them lull him. He reasoned if there were any loud or sharp noises he would hear them.

“OK, Selek.”

Spock opened his eyes to find a teapot had been set up on the coffee table before him, the Vulcan earthenware one he’d picked up in a flea market the prior year, as well as its matching cup. As with many things, there was much ceremony in the way that Vulcans prepared and served tea, and Spock had once demonstrated them for Sam, for a school project on cultural differences among Federation planets. Spock watched as Jim performed them perfectly, lifting the tiny pot in his right hand, guiding the pour with the fingertips of his left hand on its base. He set the pot down and lifted the cup, carrying it to Spock and presenting it in the traditional way, cradled in the palms of both hands. 

“Thank you,” Spock said simply, surprised that Jim had managed to pick the task up based on his one-time demonstration. He had not thought Jim was paying attention at the time. Jim smiled sweetly and then scampered off to the kitchen.

The tea had a calming effect and helped settle Spock’s stomach. Sometime later, he returned to the kitchen with the tea things. Jim sat at the table eating a bowl of cereal that he’d prepared for himself, an empty juice glass at his elbow. The kitchen was surprisingly neat and tidied – not what Spock would have expected with a five-year old left alone in it for the last half hour. 

“You should rest, Selek,” Jim told him. “You don’t feel good.”

“I am doing much better thanks to you,” Spock said truthfully.

\----

“Well, off I go!” Jim announced sometime after lunch.

Spock glanced over to see him heading out into the back yard, his backpack slung over his shoulder and sword at his belt; he noticed, too, that he’d tied one of his father’s sweatshirts around his shoulders by the arms as a makeshift set of robes – the hood draping heavily across his brow.

“You are still on your quest?”

“I have not found my true love, Merlyn, though I have searched high and low.”

“Do not give up, Wart, for surely it will reveal itself to you when you need it most.”

“I will heed your words,” he answered solemnly and slammed the door shut behind him.

\----

**Stardate 2238.128**

Spock stared down at the small, black box he held in his palm. He had not yet installed the bugging device Sakkhet had given him the week before, even though he knew he was only delaying the inevitable. Everything about it was wrong; to betray the family he worked for – cared for – was wrong.

But to be forced away from them would also be wrong. He reminded himself why he was here, and reasoned that doing this was the lesser of two evils.

“What’ve you got there?” a voice said behind him.

Spock was not one to startle easily, but he had allowed his awareness of his surroundings to lapse and had not heard anyone approach. He blamed the headache that was a near-constant annoyance, stealing his sleep and making meditation difficult. 

“Cadet Pike, what a surprise to see you this afternoon.” Spock closed his hand over the bug and stood – he’d intended to install it on the network connection point on the outside of the house, and he was currently kneeling in one of the flower beds. He turned to face Pike, easing the hand that held the bug behind his back as he extended the other. “It is my personal device,” he explained, indicating the compact PADD he also held. He intended to use it to set up a buffer for the data being recorded for Sakkhet – if any of the information captured was truly sensitive, Spock was not going to share it all with Vulcan Intelligence. “The begonias have failed to thrive.”

Pike’s eyes rested on the device for a second, then he looked up at Spock, a careful smile on his face. “Oh, OK. I just thought I saw something else.”

“Nothing you should be concerned with, Cadet. Are you here to meet with Commander Kirk? I am afraid he is not home yet.”

“I seem to keep beating him here.”

“Traffic in the city has always been a challenge. I have reminded Commander Kirk that walking is more efficient many times.”

“Oh, yeah – I guess you’ve lived here a long time huh? I mean, you went to the Academy?”

“I… did not. I attended the Vulcan Science Academy and was enrolled as an officer on a research vessel.”

“Ah,” Pike said, but Spock could, as Doctor McCoy used to say, see the wheels spinning inside his head. Spock knew that no Vulcan before himself had attended Starfleet Academy, but he hadn’t considered that anyone would question this. “I’ve heard of Vulcans pretty much keeping to the research ships, but the way Commander Kirk tells it, you’ve been on exploratory missions.”

“I took part in… what you might call an exchange program. Briefly. Many years ago.”

Pike nodded, but his attempts at looking like he was satisfied weren’t convincing, especially to Spock who’d reported to the man for 11 years and was well-acquainted his mannerisms. All of this was making his ever-present headache worse. He resolved to review the records he’d invented about “Selek” at Starfleet HQ and see if he couldn’t add additional details – he didn't think he’d be able to hack anything at the command level, but Pike would not have access to them either. The personnel department’s systems, on the other hand, were another matter.

Luckily, their conversation was interrupted by Jim, who had come bounding down the back stairs, plastic sword in hand, and begun to march toward the back of the yard where Spock had set up a small tent for him to play in.

“Where are you headed, Wart?” Pike asked. Spock took note of the use of the nickname and couldn’t decide if the familiarity irked him or not.

“On my quest.”

“Really? What are you looking for?” Suddenly avid, Pike turned toward the boy and squatted down on his haunches so that their eyes were level. 

“True love.”

Pike grinned up at Spock before turning his eyes back to Jim. “I see – are you sure you’re going to find it out here in the yard?”

“I’m pretty sure,” Jim said, hedging.

“Sometimes the journey is as important as the discovery,” Spock said, reminding Jim of a particular point he’d made the week before.

“And sometimes, your true love isn’t a person or a thing – maybe it’s doing something, or being something,” Pike suggested. “You know what’s my true love?” Jim shook his head. “Space. I can’t wait to get up there, you know? To explore, and meet new beings, see new places. I hear you were born in space, Jim – what if you were meant to be up there too? What if you were an explorer?”

Jim bit his lip, considering. “I like it here.”

“You might like it there.”

“We might reconsider projecting our own desires onto a child,” Spock said mildly.

“A fair point,” Pike conceded and stood.

“My true love is a person, I’m sure,” Jim said, re-establishing his certainty. Spock found that it touched him profoundly.

Pike ruffled Jim’s hair. “All right, buddy – I sure hope you’ll find them then.” 

Jim scurried off and within minutes was hacking away at the rhododendron with his plastic sword. 

“So much for the quest, eh?” Pike asked, amused.

“Quite.”

“Overwatering.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Your begonias – they’re overwatered,” Pike pointed out before heading up the stairs and into the house.

 

**Stardate 2238.134**

_EEEEEEEEE_

The piercing sound of Spock’s Vulcanoid proximity alarm startled him out of the light meditation he’d decided to take, and he opened his eyes. Rising, he went to check his monitors and saw that a small group of Vulcans were congregating in a nearby park which overlooked Starfleet Academy where it sat on the grounds of the old Presidio. They were clearly admiring the views of the Golden Gate Bridge beyond, as some were pointing and taking photos. Such happenings were not uncommon – the Vulcan embassy maintained a compound in the vicinity, and new staff often sought out this vantage point. 

Spock shut the alarm down with a tap of his finger and straightened his back, trying to relieve the stiff muscles in his neck. While he would allow the effects of aging were a contributing factor, the unrelenting headaches he’d been experiencing had not helped the matter. He longed for a therapeutic massage and resolved to schedule one.

Still, he felt an unease that had little to do with his aches and pains or the sense of betrayal his finally installing Sakkhet’s spying device had brought with it. No, this one was more immediate, and it seemed urgent. He recalled his bondmate would call it his “Spidey senses,” a reference he never understood, and that McCoy used to refer to it as his “alien hoodoo.”

His ears pricked up at the burst of sudden birdsong outside the window and it finally hit him – the house was utterly quiet. 

Even when the children were reading or sleeping, he always felt a low-level buzz about the place, a sort of subconscious hum within a space that was peopled. It was a well-documented phenomenon among telepathic races, including Vulcans. He might not have a specific psychic connection with this version of Jim – a situation he was _very_ careful to maintain over the years – but there was always an awareness that he was loath to shield against when he was with the Kirk family. 

He went to the back door and opened it, calling Jim’s name. There was no answer. He descended the stairs and walked across the yard; as he expected, Jim’s play tent was empty – the boy was not on the premises. 

“Jim!” he called out across the neighboring backyards. It had not been unusual in the past for Jim to join one of the neighborhood children in a playdate, though never without prior permission. Spock could allow that he might, if bored and in need of stimulation, have wandered over to another family’s house. He walked around the house to the front sidewalk and headed for the property two doors down, where the Tran family resided. Both Jim and Sam were friends with the couple’s two children, who were of a similar age. No one was at home when he knocked. He encountered the same situation at the other two houses he visited. 

Where could the child be? 

“Jim!” Spock called out again, feeling a sinking sensation at his core that he recognized as panic. Could he have misread the race of those he’d seen? Could those Vulcans have been Romulans in disguise? He ruthlessly suppressed those thoughts and headed out again toward the park where he had seen them.

The park – coincidentally, the one where Spock had first taken Sam and Jim on his first day as a nanny – was a small neighborhood offering, with picnic tables under shade trees and a well-appointed playground at the far end. It was relatively quiet at this time of the afternoon – most of the local children were still at school or on their way home – so it was easy for Spock to notice a very familiar tow-headed boy standing on the seat of one of the swings as it swept back and forth. He was hanging on on with both hands, squatting down as the swing hit its apex and straightening his body out as it came forward, and Spock didn't like the looks of it, given Jim’s penchant lately for skinning his knees. 

Spock took a moment to compose himself before striding over. As he moved, he noticed that Jim was not alone – a small boy accompanied him, watching him on the swing. Thanks to his superior Vulcan hearing, he could hear their conversation.

“Come on, you should try it!” he was saying encouragingly. Spock nearly did a double take when he realized the boy was Vulcan.

“I do not think it is wise,” the boy replied.

“Ya chicken?” Jim accused.

“I am not,” was the emphatic reply. “What is a chicken?”

“It’s a bird, Spock! Don’tcha even know what a bird is?”

Spock nearly froze in his tracks at hearing Jim’s use of his given name. He regarded the Vulcan boy more closely and astonished to realize the Vulcan boy was the younger version of himself.

“Of course I do,” young Spock was saying, “I have made a point of familiarizing myself with all the local fauna. This one was not included in my research – are there many about?”

“Mostly on farms,” Jim said, conceding the point. He stood up straight and the swing began to slow; it was that this moment that he noticed his nanny approaching. “Uh-oh.”

Spock noted that his younger self regarded him with mild curiosity; he tried to ignore it and focus on how best to handle this situation. Calmness fought irritation and while they tussled, anger stepped forward. “Jim, get down immediately,” Spock said shortly. He reached forward and grasped the boy’s arm, guiding him off the swing. He was breathing through his nose now, trying to calm himself as Jim climbed down to the ground.

“Selek, I – “

“Do not speak until I give you leave, do you understand? What impulse possessed you to leave the house unsupervised, and to come here without permission? I was in the midst of my afternoon meditation – if you wished to come play you only needed to ask. Did you give no forethought to the effects your thoughtless actions would have on others? Did you not pause to consider the degree of harm to which you might have come, with no one to look after and protect you? Did you?” 

Jim stared up at him, his face pale.

“Well?”

“You have not given him leave to speak,” young Spock pointed out.

Spock aimed a quelling eyebrow at him and the young Vulcan looked away. “Jim, answer me,” he said, turning his eyes back to Jim.

“I wanted to – I was questing, and I needed to expand my search.”

Spock closed his eyes, attempting to find some control over his emotions and failing. “Expand your search? I suppose I ought to have expected as much, having indulged your childish and illogical obsession with that book. I see placing my trust in your ability to reason was time ill-spent.”

Jim’s face had gone from pale to bright red, and his bottom lip was now quivering. “I’m sorry, Selek,” he said, his voice small and high-pitched. 

“You will learn what sorry is when you are denied your story for an entire month.”

“Selek!”

Spock held up his hand. “It is a punishment I am sure your father will uphold. I am disappointed in you Jim, I truly am.”

There were now tears on Jim’s face and Spock was beginning to regret his harsh words when a voice behind them said, “Don’t you think you’re being a little too hard on him? What could he have done that was so bad?”

Spock turned around and was astonished to find himself face-to-face with his mother. She was dressed in Terran-style clothing – as he remembered she preferred whenever they visited earth – and her manner was as calm and serene as Spock remembered. 

He lost the ability to speak.

“What could he have done that was so horrible?” she asked.

“It appears he was out of the house without permission, Mother,” young Spock informed her.

“Oh, Jim, you said you lived nearby,” Amanda said to Jim, gently chiding.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry! I didn't mean to get everyone angry!” Jim said, suddenly sobbing. “I didn't mean it, I didn't!”

Amanda laid a hand on his head. “There, now, don’t cry, I’m sure is going to be all right.” 

But Jim’s crying soon escalated into great, gulping sobs that put him in very clear danger of hyperventilating, alarming Spock enough so that whatever anger he still felt melted instantly away. He knelt down. “Jim, it… it will be all right, please calm yourself,” he said quietly, and held out his arms. Jim stepped forward and buried his face against Spock’s shoulder, repeating his apology over and over in words that were unintelligible. Spock held him close and murmured into his ear, “Come now, Jim. Shh,” into his ear until the boy had calmed. 

“Mother, are all human children given to such histrionics?” Spock overheard his younger self ask.

Amanda took his hand and held it. “Not all of the time, dear.”

Spock looked up at her. “Thank you for looking after him – I apologize for the inconvenience.”

“Oh, it’s been no inconvenience. I think Spock was happy to have someone his size to play with.”

“Playing is illogical,” said the young Vulcan.

Amanda rolled her eyes fondly. “Pass some time in gainful physical exertion then,” she said and Spock looked satisfied. Amanda smiled. “As I was saying, Jim indicated he lived close by and I assumed he was allowed to be here. It is I who should apologize – Mr. Selek is it? – if I’d had any indication he was out of bounds I would have done something about it.”

Spock pulled a handkerchief from inside his robes and cleaned off Jim’s face the best he could, then stood. “This is something that he has never done before and the fault is mine for not having anticipated it.”

“Don’t beat yourself up over it, Mr. Selek, kids will always test your limits – the only real thing we can plan for is how we deal with it.” 

“Which I think I did not handle well, regrettably.” 

“Where fear walks, anger is its companion.”

Spock looked into her large, brown eyes, startled – she had never been one to quote Surak to him when he was young, and to hear it now was something of a surprise. 

“You will learn from this as you learn from all things,” she added. 

“I believe you are right, Mrs…?”

“Oh, how rude of me not to introduce myself,” she said, chiding herself. “Please call me Amanda.”

“Peace and long life, Amanda,” Spock said, displaying the _ta’al_.

Amanda returned the gesture. “Live long and prosper, Selek. Now, I think these two were just getting to know each other,” she prompted, indicating the two boys. She leaned forward conspiratorially. “I know that Jim is in trouble, but do you think you might allow him to remain a while longer, Selek? Spock has access to so few children his age while we’re on-planet.”

Spock patted Jim, who was still clinging to him, on the shoulder. “I believe I will allow it, provided you stay within my sight, Jim.”

“I think he will,” Amanda said, taking in the hopeful, grateful expression on the boy’s face. “You’re a good boy, aren’t you, Jimmy?”

“Mostly,” he sniffled.

\----

George was in meetings and would be late coming home that night, so Spock stayed to put the children to bed. He sat in the easy chair he favored, attempting to read one of the many books George owned, but found he could not focus. 

Meeting his mother today had been an unexpected shock, if not an unpleasant one. He had never considered he would meet his parents in this timeline and so had not been prepared. But as the children played together, he and Amanda sat on a nearby bench and got acquainted. It was not difficult for him to pretend he did not know her already, and doing so as a peer was an inherently novel experience. He was soon as at ease with her as he had ever been as a child and for an afternoon he felt comfortable.

Amanda and Sarek’s presence on Earth also explained the headaches he’d been suffering for the last few weeks –he deduced he was suffering the effects of his long-dormant familial bonds coming back to life. He adjusted his mental shields to compensate and had begun to feel relief almost immediately. Fortunately, their bonds had remained unchanged – but Spock knew that if he met Sarek he could do little to prevent their connection from being re-established, he’d be found out. He resolved to do whatever he needed to ensure that didn’t happen. 

It did not keep him from agreeing to a play date for Jim and Spock again the following week, however.

He knew he was “playing with fire” as the Terran saying went, but he could not resist the opportunity to be with Amanda again. She had always been like a balm for his mind and though he could not meld with her and feel her calming presence there, he could at least enjoy her company.

As he sat with his thoughts waiting for George to come home, he heard a footfall behind him. A moment later, Jim crawled into his lap and snuggled against him, his stuffed sehlat nestled in the crook of his arm. 

Spock settled the child’s head beneath his chin and rested his arms around him comfortably. “Can you not sleep?”

Jim shook his head. “I’m sorry I made you mad,” he said.

“Your apology is accepted, Jim. I am sorry as well. It was wrong of me to give voice to my fear in that way, and to use sharp words with you.”

Jim craned his neck back, looking into Spock’s face “You were a-scared? Of what?”

“That something bad would befall you. There are many dangers in the world for a small child. If something happened to you, I could never forgive myself. I am responsible for your well-being, and I care for you very much.”

“You do?”

Spock nodded. “And for Sam and your father. At the risk of sounding illogically sentimental, I consider you all as close to me as my own family.”

Jim kissed him on the cheek with too-wet lips. “We _are_ your family, Selek,” he said, and settled his warm head back upon Spock’s chest.

 

**Stardate 2238.141**

“You don’t hold it like _that_ , you hold it like _this_. Jim reached out to correct young Spock’s grip on the toy broadsword, forcing him to hold the light plastic at arm’s length rather than the two-handed grip Spock had adopted.

“I do not think that is correct,” the boy corrected Jim. “None of my research suggests this is the proper way to wield a broadsword.”

“But it’s the _coolest way_ , Spock. Come on, let’s go!”

Spock watched from the back porch of the Kirk house as the two boys played, reflecting on the improbability that these two should have encountered each other so young in life. He briefly entertained the fantasy of what might have happened had he met his own James Kirk at so young an age. It was an interesting idea, but he quickly discounted it for the illogical fancy it was when he realized he most likely would not have given the other boy the time of day. 

“They certainly have become as thick as thieves, haven’t they?” 

Spock turned to address Amanda, who’d come up behind him to watch the boys play; they had been enjoying a cup of tea together and chatting about current events.

“It would appear so.”

“Jim is such an easy child – I’m so glad Spock has found a friend here.”

“It can be difficult to be in a new city – do you and your husband the ambassador plan to stay on Earth for long?”

“Perhaps a year. We will need to find a school for Spock while we are here, but I’m afraid he won’t thrive in a human school – the Vulcan education is so rigorous and advanced compared to the ones here.”

“Could he not be assigned to a class that is at his intellectual level?”

“He could, but I don’t think a seven year old boy will do very well in an American high school, do you?”

“A sound point. Perhaps private instruction.”

She sighed. “That’s probably what we will do, but then he won’t have the opportunity to socialize with children his age.”

They looked up as the back door banged open and Jim appeared with Spock literally in tow – he was grasping the other boy by the wrist and Spock didn’t seem to mind at all.

“Selek, can Spock and me have a sleepover?”

Spock looked at Amanda, whose eyes were on the boys. “I think that is a matter to be taken up with your parents.”

“Miss Amanda, can Spock and me have a sleepover?” 

“I… think that can be arranged.”

“Tonight?”

“Well…?” she looked to Spock.

“Perhaps another time when we have had the opportunity to ask your father first?” Spock said.

Jim looked crestfallen. 

“In the meantime, who wants a snack?” Amanda asked.

“Me! Me!” Jim said, jumping up and down.

Spock didn’t know whether to be more impressed by Jim’s ability to change mood on a dime or Amanda’s skill at manipulation. This shone a light on so very many of his own childhood memories.

\----

“We will see you the day after tomorrow, then,” Amanda said, occupying herself with packing up Spock’s things. 

The boys had become friends so fast it amazed Spock, for he had no frame of reference in his own childhood, one that had been spent primarily on Vulcan. However he reflected that he had not yet had the opportunity to meet James T. Kirk as this Spock had, and that was a very large variable to account for. His own Jim had been the first man he would call friend – and later in life they were so much more to each other.

“Can’t I talk you into coming by the Embassy?” Amanda was saying. “I have told my husband about you and he is quite eager to meet you.”

Spock had difficulty imagining Sarek eager to do anything, but a meeting with him was the last thing he desired. “I am afraid that would be difficult.”

“Very well.”

As they were about to leave, however, George arrived home early.

“Daddy!” Jim yelled, running to his father and throwing his arms around his hips. “Can Spock sleep over? Can he? Can he? Can he?”

“Whoa there, little guy,” George said with a laugh, picking Jim up for a quick hug as he took in the fact that he had guests in his kitchen. “Hello,” he greeted Amanda with a smile.

“Hello.”

George set Jim back down. “You’re Amanda Grayson – Selek has told me about you.”

“I am pleased to meet you, Commander.”

“Call me George. And this must be Spock, your son?”

“I am pleased to make your acquaintance, Commander Kirk,” the boy said politely.

George smiled widely. “Jim has talked about no one else for the last week,” he said. “I feel I would know you both whether we’d been introduced or not.”

“The same goes for Spock.”

“Mother, that is not true,” Spock said, his cheeks coloring. “I converse with you on a wide variety of topics.”

“Yes, of course,” she replied, amused.

“Amanda, your husband is Sarek, the Vulcan ambassador, isn’t he?”

“Yes.”

“I wonder if he’d be open to advising me on a project I’ve been working on, one that I think needs input from a person well-versed in the ins and outs of Federation politics.”

Amanda raised her eyebrows. “I don’t see why he would not. You know, there is going to be a performance by the traveling company of the Shikhar Opera Company at the embassy on Thursday – why don’t you bring the family, and you can tell him all about it?”

George’s face lit up eagerly. “You mean it? That would be great. Thank you.”

She glanced at Spock. “You’re invited as well, Selek. I am sure you will enjoy the performance – I am told they will perform some Klingon pieces, and it is not to be missed.”

Spock raised an eyebrow; the thought of Vulcans performing the very emotional, kinetic art form that was Klingon opera was nearly too tempting. Nevertheless, he had to decline or risk everything. “I thank you but I –“

“Oh no, you have to say yes,” George interrupted. “You never take the time to have any fun, Selek.”

“Fun is a relative term, George.”

“I insist, Selek,” Amanda said, eyes dancing with mirth. She turned to George. “We really must go, but I’ll arrange to have four tickets waiting for you. There will be a reception beforehand at 7:00 – we’ll see you then.” Turning, she beckoned for her son and they both left through the front door.

“Can you believe it?” George asked. “If I can get Sarek to my side, that’s as good as having the High Council’s approval, right?”

“Sarek is said to have T’Pau’s ear,” Spock said distractedly. 

“This is so exciting!” George turned to Jim. “What do you say, Jimmy – you want to go see some opera at the Vulcan embassy tomorrow night?”

Jim wrinkled his nose. “Will Spock be there?”

“I’m sure he will be.”

“Then hurray!” Jim jumped up and down, clapping his hands.

\----

Spock set out his meditation mat and was about to light the incense when there was a knock at the door to his apartment. 

“I ought to have expected to hear from you,” he said to Sakkhet almost before he saw who it was. “Does word travel that quickly within the confines of the embassy?”

“I do not know what you mean,” Sakkhet said, entering the flat. 

“Do you not?” Spock gestured for him to sit and then went to put the kettle on for tea. “The Kirk family and I have been invited to the embassy tomorrow evening so that George may discuss his findings on planetary security with Sarek.”

Sakkhet was silent.

“Do you not wish to chastise me for failing to tell you immediately?” Spock asked, aware he was being illogically sarcastic.

“I have none – this is, in fact, news to me. But it does not follow that it is unwelcome – or not useful.”

Spock took a step forward, not liking his tone. “Sakkhet, if you think that you will use George Kirk’s passion for this cause against him, to turn him into another one of your spies, I cannot allow it to happen. You will not force him to compromise his loyalties as I have done, to become an asset, a pawn for you and your schemes for the High Council.”

“As you have done? You are meant to be acting for the benefit of the Vulcan people – it is not only your moral responsibility but your duty as a Vulcan citizen, Selek. If you had any qualms about the work you have been asked to do, you have always had an out.”

“An out – yes, to abandon the Kirk family. That was the only choice you gave me, Sakkhet, and you know I would not take it,” Spock said bitterly.

“Yes, I took advantage of that to further my agenda, but I still fail to understand why a man of your obvious accomplishments has lowered himself to working as a _domestic_ in the household of a human. It is the very height of illogic.”

“Yes. It is. And my reasons for it are my own.” 

The kettle whistled then, giving Spock an excuse to leave the room and compose himself, for which he was grateful. As usual, Sakkhet was able to bring out the very worst in him, a fact he was not proud of, but he also could not be fussed to care much about.

It took Spock many more minutes to prepare the tea than was strictly necessary, but when he returned to the sitting room, he was at least composed. “You said that George Kirk’s invitation to the embassy was news to you, Sakkhet – what was it that brought you to see me?”

“The Romulan ship – there are substantiated reports of its activities in Klingon space.” When Spock did not immediately respond, Sakkhet went on. “You find it surprising that I would share this with you. Was it not our arrangement, this quid pro quo?”

“It is not my experience that those in the intelligence community are given to sharing much of anything.”

“What has your experience been then, Selek? What has a child caregiver to do with intelligence services of any kind?” Sakkhet leaned forward slightly, his eyes intent on Spock.

Spock could feel the other man’s mind brush against his awareness, and he quickly strengthened his mental shields. “I do not care to share any more than I already have.”

“You have barely shared anything, Selek, and I am growing impatient. You claim that you and these Romulans are from the future, one now irrevocably altered by your presence here. You claim you are here to protect the Kirk family, yet there has been no clear or present threat to them to date. You claim the Romulans have sworn revenge against you and to the Federation. I am inclined to agree – the advanced weaponry they used is all the proof I require. Yet you will share nothing more than that. If you are so intimately acquainted with their origins, intent, and means you can see that, now that they are on the move, the information you keep so jealously is of eminent importance? The Federation – perhaps even Vulcan herself – may be exposed to attack, and you would remain coy?”

Spock remained silent, but Sakkhet had a point, and his resistance to sharing more information was wearing down.

Sakkhet went on, “Now. Will you tell me who you _really_ are, Selek, and why you have attached yourself to the young Kirk family?”

“I believe I will,” Spock said quietly, then rose. “But not tonight. Thank you for coming, Sakkhet.” He moved to the door.

Perturbed, Sakkhet rose from his own chair and drew his robes around him. “You will tell me everything.” It was not a request.

“I will tell you what you need to know,” Spock opened the door, “as well as T’Ren, when you’ve arranged a meeting between us during the reception at the embassy in two days.” T’Ren was the head of the Vulcan Intelligence Service, though her role was not widely known. Spock only knew she did what she did because of who his father was; he had met T’Ren often when he was young, and she often traveled with ambassadorial parties, typically undercover as a low-level official to avoid suspicion.

Sakkhet was clearly not pleased. “She will not be content with your usual evasions, Selek.”

“Of that I have no doubt, Sakkhet. However, you may tell her that I very likely possess the means to destroy the Romulan ship, and I intend to share it with the High Council.”

Sakkhet’s eyes widened, but he said nothing more before he left.

 

**Stardate 2238.142**

The Vulcan Embassy in San Francisco was designed by the same architect who had designed the VSA. It was based on a design that had been initially rejected by that venerated institution as not unconducive to contemplation and study. Eminently practical beings, they saw no reason not to recycle the design when it was perfectly serviceable as an Embassy. The fact the design was over one thousand years old was not seen as relevant.

Spock hated it.

Of course, hate was a strong word, particularly for a Vulcan. Yet he had always disliked the practical lines and perfect acoustics, the practicality of function over form that was to be found in every door and window. The utter lack of anywhere to hide.

As a teen he found this particular failing to be unconscionable, particularly when he would rather have been left alone to read rather than practicing his lyre or working out with the _ahn-woon_. And now, as a man well into his maturity, he still disliked it for its lack of imagination. And convenient alcoves in which to hide.

Spock arrived at the embassy with the boys in tow with not a minute to spare – at least according to the schedule he’d set for the evening. The plan was to arrive thirty minutes before the reception was scheduled to begin so that they’d be able to get through security in due time and beat the rush. One of Spock’s better traits, he thought, was his almost preternatural ability to arrive on time. This was something that always frustrated his own Jim when they were together, for to make Spock late was a most grievous offense. Their one and only fight as a married couple was over Jim’s making them late to Sulu’s wedding because of a lost cufflink. 

Entry to the Embassy for non-Vulcan citizens was a protracted affair, with background checks, security scans, and the like slowing the process down. Spock had an ulterior motive for arriving so early – he planned to meet Sakkhet and go with him to speak with T’Ren. Spock was prepared to tell them about his origins, of Nero and his ship, and of the potential weapon-making capabilities of the red matter stored aboard the Jellyfish, capabilities Spock believed would be the only way of stopping Nero in his rampage across the galaxy. He’d spent the last several months working it all out, and he’d brought his findings on a data cube he kept in his pocket. He just didn't necessarily trust Sakkhet to bring the information to the proper people. T’Ren would.

Spock had the timing planned out – he was going to excuse himself to the restroom, find Sakkhet, and confer with T’Ren. He computed that the conversation would take 11.4 minutes, after which he would make a subsequent appointment to work out pertinent details, and rejoin the Kirk family. At the same time, he knew he would have to avoid his father, who would certainly be in attendance. Luckily, Sarek and his family would likely be sitting in the private box at the back of the auditorium; Spock knew the family had been given orchestra-level seats. Spock hoped he would be far enough away for his presence not to be noticed by Sarek.

Now they had arrived – but George had not. Spock looked up and down the street, but he was not in sight. 

“Will we go inside?” Jim asked, dancing up and down; he was impatient to see his friend Spock again. This was a development that pleased the elder Spock deeply, to see how close the two boys had grown in such a short timeframe.

“We must wait for your father.”

“I’ll message him,” Sam said, pulling out his personal PADD – a recent acquisition that he was loath to part with. “He says he’s parking the car,” he reported a moment later.

“If your father would only walk instead of insisting on driving that infernal machine, he’d arrive places on time,” Spock replied, failing to keep the testy note from his voice.

“He says he likes to arrive in style.”

“Just not on time.”

“Here we are!” George called from half way up the block, and Spock and the boys turned to greet him. Spock saw that he’d brought Cadet Pike along with him.

“Daddy!” Jim said happily and ran into his arms. 

“Hope I’m not _too late_ ,” George said.

“Not too bad,” Sam replied. “You only got one eyebrow raise.”

They both trained identical grins at Spock, who felt simultaneously ganged-up on and appreciated. “Yes, well…” was all he managed before ushering them all to the entrance.

George and Pike took care of their own entry at security – they had an appointment to meet with Sarek ahead of the reception, so were allowed to use a shorter line for official business – while Spock took the boys through the visitors’ line. There was some delay due to the sheer number of toy medieval soldiers Jim had managed to secret upon his person, but other than that, their early arrival got them through security with relative ease.

Spock led the boys through the long gallery that lined the Western wall of the Embassy to a botanical garden that sat off to the side of the main atrium of the embassy, where the reception would take place later. Amanda and young Spock were already waiting for them. 

“Spock!” Jim cried happily, and ran over to greet his friend with a warm hug that the other boy took in stride.

“Good afternoon, Selek,” Amanda greeted them warmly. “I am so happy you could be talked into coming.”

“Someone needed to supervise the children,” Spock said as his eyes took in the array of native Vulcan plants arranged in the garden, some familiar, some not so much – they’d been chosen for their ability to withstand the local climate, so had been taken from more temperate areas of Vulcan than the desert Spock had grown up in.

“Oh, so you’re getting nothing out of being here?” Amanda asked, a twinkle in her eye as Spock dragged his eyes away from the purple, spiked flowers of a _favinit_ orchid.

He allowed himself to smile back at her, his fondness taking over. “I am not unaffected,” he admitted.

“How long has it been since you were home?”

“Many years. I miss it, though sometimes not enough. I have made other homes for myself.”

“I understand,” she said. She turned, gesturing towards the bench where she’d been sitting; a small table had been set up with refreshments. “Can I get you some tea?”

“In a little while,” Spock said. “There is some business I need to take care of. Might I impose on you to supervise the boys for a short while?” Spock had many things on his mind, including his desire to get the meeting with Sakkhet and T’Ren out of the way quickly. He gestured vaguely behind him, trusting that Amanda would not pry.

“Of course, Selek – though I don’t know that it will be all that hard.” She glanced at Sam, who sat slouched over on a bench not too far away with his PADD in hand, messaging his friends. Jim sat with young Spock in the shade of a Vulcan palm tree, playing with the soldiers he’d brought along, making them ready for battle. 

“Thank you.”

Spock turned to go – and ran into Cadet Pike.

“Selek – off so soon? Whatever for?”

Spock took a deep breath and held it; it had not escaped his notice that Pike had been prying more and more into his background; he’d overheard him speaking to George about Spock’s qualifications. “I was hoping to clear up a business matter with the Office of Sciences.” This was not strictly a lie – T’Ren’s cover was as a minor official in that office.

“Oh? Well, come back soon – I’m sure George won’t want you gone for long.”

“The children are under the care of Miss Grayson. Are you not attending the meeting with the Ambassador?”

Pike looked momentarily annoyed. “My clearance level was deemed not high enough.”

“Ah, well, that is unfortunate. I am certain Commander Kirk will fill you in on details commensurate to your security level.” He turned to go.

“Better hurry off, _Selek_ , wouldn’t want that V’Shar operative that’s been tailing you to be kept waiting.”

Spock froze and turned to face Pike, his eyes cold. “I am sure I do not know what you are talking about. The V’Shar does not operate on Earth.”

Pike returned Spock’s glare with a cold steel one of his own. “Of course not – why would they spy on their closest allies?”

“Indeed.” Spock turned to go again, but Pike stayed him with a hand on his arm. 

“You know, the Kirks are a nice family, and George has been a really great mentor to me. I’d hate for them to be hurt by anyone pretending to be something they’re not.”

“And what am I, _Cadet_?”

Pike let his arm go and smiled dangerously. “Just the nanny. Right?”

“Selek! Selek!” 

Spock turned away from Pike to find Jim running up to him. “Where ya goin’?” Jim reached up and took hold of Spock’s hands. When Spock looked up, Pike had gone.

“I have business to attend to,” Spock answered, struggling to maintain an even tone of voice with the boy. He opened his mind a bit and felt Jim’s gentle happiness through their touch; it calmed him.

Jim placed his small feet atop Spock’s, and Spock began to walk slowly, hoisting Jim’s weight and walking the boy backwards while maintaining his hold on Jim’s hands. Other Vulcans looked on with perfectly expressionless disapproval, and Spock ignored them. 

“Cool, can I come?”

“You cannot, for it is _my_ business.”

Jim looked disappointed. “Cantcha do it later? Spock and me have the soldiers all lined up. It’s sure to be a massacre!”

“How tragic. I cannot, but perhaps later, if there is time before the performance.”

Jim wrinkled his nose. “I don’t like opera.”

“You have never been to the opera,” Spock pointed out.

“It doesn’t sound good. There are no swords.”

“It is Klingon opera – there are likely to be _bat’leths_.”

“What’s that?”

“Better than swords,” Spock replied.

Jim’s face lit up. “Awesome! Wait’ll I tell Spock!”

“I am certain he knows already,” Spock said, knowing without doubt that his younger self was likely to have already studied not only the libretto of the opera, but he’d probably also memorized its performance history. “Perhaps he will teach you more about it.”

“Cool!” Jim wheeled around and ran back towards his friend.

At last, Spock turned and had a clear line to the exit into the gallery beyond. He turned right to head towards his destination and froze as he spotted Sarek coming towards him from the opposite end, deep in conversation with George. 

Spock drew back into the garden, scanning the space for an alternative route. He saw one – it would take him the length of the small garden, out into a service corridor typically used for catering staff – but he knew it gave out at the far end of the gallery. He went on his way, moving as quickly as he could so that he would not be later than he already was. He kept his eyes on the entrance to the garden, dreading the sight of his father there, but thankfully he did not appear.

At last he made it to the service corridor – and promptly ran right into Sakkhet, stopping short in his tracks and making an undignified noise. “Sakkhet! Must you always lurk so?” Spock asked, perturbed.

“It has much to recommend it,” the man replied dryly.

“Come, I am late for my meeting with T’Ren.”

“That is why I am here – she cannot meet with you now.”

Spock no longer cared to hide his annoyance. “That is most inconvenient.”

“She sends her regrets, but there has been an urgent communiqué from the High Council itself. The Romulan, it seems, is becoming bolder in his attacks. He has practically decimated the prison outpost _Rura Penthe_ , and is even now leaving the system, pursued by no less than six Birds of Prey at last report.”

Spock felt his heart leap in his side. “Do you know his heading?”

“I do not. But you must tell me what you know, Selek, and you must do it quickly – if it is as important as you intimated, your intelligence could make the difference in how quickly we address this threat. The weapons of that ship are a very real and present danger to the Federation.”

“I will tell no one but T’Ren.”

“Do you not trust me?”

“You have to ask?”

Sakkhet actually sighed. “Very well. I will come for you the moment she is available, but you must be ready to come with me. Time is not on our side in this, and you know that T’Ren will not be pleased to be kept waiting.”

Spock inclined his head in agreement.

Sakkhet took his leave and Spock stayed in the corridor for a moment to collect his thoughts. With his meeting now delayed, he would have to work out how to take his leave from the family later. If it occurred during the opera’s performance, he was not sure he could do it convincingly, but he would do his best – lives literally hung in the balance. He turned to go, and as he hurried through back into the arboretum, his mind elsewhere, he literally ran into his father.

“I’m terribly sorry.” The words were out of Spock’s mouth before he registered who the person was. Instinctively, Spock reached out to catch him, his hand brushing the exposed wrist of his other arm as it flailed out, looking for support.

“Ahh!” Sarek said, stumbling. His right hand flew up to his temple and he grimaced as if in pain. 

At once, Spock felt a stabbing pain in his own mind as the shields he’d erected to keep his parents from detecting his presence crumbled and fell at the renewed contact with his father. Sarek’s eyes flew open, his dark eyes meeting Spock’s and locking on.

“Ambassador? Are you all right?” George Kirk was asking; Spock hadn’t even noticed him there.

“Spock?” Sarek breathed, his eyes holding Spock’s with an intensity that Spock dared not look away from. “ _Spock_?”

“F-Father,” Spock hissed out.

“How is this possible?”

“Selek, what’s going on?” George asked. When Spock did not answer, George laid a hand on his arm. “ _Selek_?” Spock looked sharply at George and at once the spell between he and his father was broken.

“You know this man, Commander?” Sarek rasped, his face ashen; he did not take his eyes from Spock as he spoke.

“Of course I do, he’s my child caregiver. I’ve known him for years.”

“Years? How is that possible? How are _you_ possible? My… my son?” Sarek asked Spock. He was visibly trembling. 

“Father, I can explain.”

“ _Father_?” George said. “How is that possible? You’re probably 40 years older than he is, no offense, Selek.”

“None taken,” Spock said. “I am actually 85 years older.”

“Oh, well that clears everything up,” George said sarcastically. “Look, I dunno what you guys think’s happened here, but Sarek’s son is over there,” he gestured over his shoulder with his thumb, “and he’s only about seven, so someone’s got their math wrong.”

“Was it some sort of temporal anomaly?” Sarek asked, ignoring George.

“Yes. I took great pains to avoid coming into contact with you or Mother,” Spock replied.

“Not great enough.”

“Clearly.”

“You have broken many laws, not to mention a serious breach of temporal ethics. You should not be here. Your presence threatens the very fabric of our society.”

“It is good to see you as well, Father.”

“You do not take this seriously?”

“On the contrary, I take it quite seriously.” Spock could feel himself getting angry. “I have given long consideration to the fallout from my actions and I deemed the risks far outweighed by the other, very dire consequences.”

“Consequences? What consequences could possibly have compelled you?” Sarek asked with disgust and fear in his voice.

His tone was so very like the one his father took with him when he was a young man, the tone he’d used when he told Spock he would never see him again if he opted to pursue a career at Starfleet, the tone he used when accusing Spock of acting too human. Spock could not bear it, and so spoke without thinking, “The very life and safety of my future mate compelled me. You cannot possibly understand how important he is to the future survival of the Federation. When his life was threatened by Nero, how could I not act? How could I not step in to keep him safe?”

“Hold on a second,” George said. 

At the sound of his voice, Spock flinched. He had almost forgotten he was there. “Your future mate? Who’s that?”

“I –“ Spock could feel blood rushing to his ears. He dared not speak. “I cannot say.”

“The hell you can’t, Selek. You don’t just drop this kind of bombshell and skate. Who are you referring to? Not _me_?”

“No. Not you.”

“One of the boys then?” George’s face went pale, nearly all color leeching from his features as he drew an inevitable conclusion. “Jim?”

Spock closed his eyes. His silence was answer enough.

“He’s a _boy._ ”

“Whom I love as if he were my own son. Do not misunderstand my intentions – I only acted in order to protect him. He has another destiny, one he will fulfill with another by his side, not me. Please do not think that I would ever… George, it is… unthinkable…”

“OK, I believe you,” George said, some of the outrage leaving his face. But it was soon to be replaced by another, darker emotion. “But wait – you said ‘Nero.’ You said it… like you knew, like you… Selek, _what do you know_?”

George’s voice rose, attracting the attention of others around them – the reception was now in full swing.

“I see you are upset, Commander, but we must not do this here. We are attracting unwanted attention,” Sarek warned.

“I think I’ve had all the unwanted attention I can stand for one lifetime,” George spat out before turning on his heel and leaving. Spock watched sadly as he collected his sons from Amanda’s watchful gaze and left.

“Spock.”

It had been so long since he’d been addressed that way that Spock didn’t react when his father called him by his given name.

“ _Sa-fu_ ,” he said.

Spock tore his eyes away from George’s retreating back and looked at Sarek. He had not felt this lost since the day he realized he had completely lost his former life in this alternate timeline – this purgatory – of his own making. “Yes?”

“You have traveled far,” his father said, his voice gentling. “Will you take your ease?”

Spock had no answer, but he followed him from the reception because he had nowhere else to go.

 

**Stardate 2238.143**

Spock arrived at the Kirk house and actually knocked at the familiar door for the first time in five years, dreading the encounter that was to come.

“I didn’t think you could stay away,” George said as soon as the door was open. 

Despite it being a Friday morning, George was dressed in casual clothes – he clearly didn’t intend to go to work this morning.

“May I come in?”

George turned around and walked into the house, leaving Spock standing in the open door. He entered, closed the door silently and walked in.

“Selek! Selek!” Jim called, running down the stairs to greet him.

“Jim!” George yelled, and even Spock flinched – George had never raised his voice to either of his sons in all the time Spock knew him. “Didn’t I tell you to stay in your room?”

“But Daddy, it’s Selek!”

“Jim,” George said in a tone that brooked no argument. Jim retreated up the stairs and Spock could hear the door to his bedroom close with a quiet _snick_. He followed George into the kitchen.

“This is your stuff,” George said, presenting Spock with a cloth shopping bag with his personal effects, including the Vulcan tea he favored.

“Thank you,” Spock said, taking it. His fingers brushed George’s and he nearly gasped at the sharpness of the fury he felt coming from the man. “You look tired. Have you eaten?”

George held up a hand. “No. You do not get to do that – you do not get to be nice. You lied to me. You lied to _us_.”

“I regret that my actions hurt you. It was my intention to protect you.”

George shook his head. “OK. OK, but why? What were you protecting us from? From Nero? Why would he even care who we are?”

“He cares because I care. It was his threats to Jim’s life that brought me here.” Spock paused, taking a breath to organize his thoughts. “Nero holds me responsible for the destruction of Romulus.”

“What? Romulus is where it always is.”

“It is not – not where Nero and I originated.” Spock then told George the entire story in as much detail as necessary to make him understand. 

“Once he realized where the wormhole had brought us - _when_ it had brought us – Nero threatened to destroy everything I held dear. He knew me, do you see? He knew who I was in our own universe, and he made direct threats against the most important person to me. I had no idea what he would do, but I could not let him succeed. I knew it was wrong to come here, but it was a choice I was comfortable with. It was one he forced me to make the moment he threatened Jim’s life.

“I had no way of knowing what he had done when he attacked the Kelvin, George – no way to know how he’d already affected your lives and the fates of the entire galaxy when he destroyed that ship.”

“You were there.” George looked like he might be sick.

“I was.”

“You saw what he did and you just let it happen?” There were angry tears welling in George’s eyes. 

“I was powerless to prevent it.”

George nodded, but Spock wasn’t sure if he really understood. 

“I cannot stay.” Spock knew he could tell George what he wanted to hear – that he’d made a deal with Vulcan Intelligence to find Nero and, if they could not capture him, destroy his ship. That he would share with them his knowledge of Nero’s advanced weaponry – knowledge that would be enough to destroy the Romulan ship, eliminate its threat in the galaxy forever. But he did not think it would matter.

“I wouldn’t let you if you did. I don’t know if I can forgive you, Selek.”

“I understand. May I say goodbye to the children?”

“No.”

Spock flinched again. “Very well.” He turned to go, but paused and turned around. “I suspect you do not wish to hear it, George, but among all of the regrets I have in my life, caring for your family is not one of them.” 

George just shook his head and turned away.

Spock nearly made it to the front door when a small voice said. “Where are ya goin’, Selek?”

“Jim.” Spock turned around to face the child, who stood on the bottom step of the staircase, still clad in his pajamas, one hand on the railing. “I must go away.”

“Why?”

Spock almost choked on his words. “Do you recall the part in the _Sword in the Stone_ where Wart is turned into a goose? What was the lesson he learned from Nyo-Nyok and her people?”

Jim looked at the ceiling as he thought. “That the needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few.”

“That is correct. There are things I must do that will affect many lives – many more than just you and I. And even if it pains me, I must leave. Do you understand?”

He nodded. “I think so.”

Spock stepped forward and rested his hand atop Jim’s blond head. “Good. Remember that lesson, for it is a very important one.”

“I will, Selek. Will you come back?” 

“I do not know.”

Again, Jim nodded, then cocked his head to the side. A moment later, he held his hand aloft with his small fingers positioned in an awkward approximation of the _ta’al_. “Peace and long life, Selek,” he said solemnly.

Spock nodded and raised his own hand. “Live long and prosper, Jim.”

Spock managed to make it all the way to the sidewalk before he allowed tears to form in his eyes.


	3. Epilogue

**Stardate 2239.200  
Shikahr, Vulcan**

George wouldn’t say he was telepathic, not like every Vulcan he knew, but he had been known to get “feelings” from time to time, especially about people that were close to him. He’d known before she told him that Winona was pregnant – both times. And he’d felt that dull, tickling sensation at the back of his mind for the last two days.

This trait had apparently been passed down to one of his sons, as he’d learned when Jim and Sam had been tested for psi abilities – a prerequisite for them to enter a Vulcan school. Jim had been undergoing tutoring two times a week with a Vulcan mind adept to try to develop the skill, and had been showing real progress – if George was reading between the lines properly of T’Loren’s pronouncement that his skills were “adequate”. And he’d gotten pretty good at reading between Vulcan lines over the last year.

He often wondered if Selek had noticed this latent talent in Jim, or if it was a later development. 

Selek. _Spock_. It was his given name and George had better get used to it. 

George found himself wondering about the man often lately, ever since word trickled down to him three weeks before that the mission to take down Nero’s ship had been a success. George assumed Spock had been instrumental in the mission – if the highly redacted Starfleet Intelligence forwarded to him by his old friend Admiral Archer that had cited “unnamed Vulcan Intelligence operatives” working with Starfleet Special Forces had been accurate. He had no reason to doubt them. 

After nearly a year, George found he could finally be objective about what had happened, and though he still did not know if he could forgive Spock for the lies he’d told, he understood his motives. And he recognized the contribution he’d made to his family by watching over them and helping George to raise them.

So it was without surprise that he found Spock standing on his doorstep this afternoon, looking as nervous as a Vulcan could get as he leaned on the cane he held in his left hand.

George’s immediate reaction was one of shock – in addition to his obvious injury, Spock’s face was drawn with obvious exhaustion, still marred by the scar of a healing burn on the left side – and George refrained from pulling him inside to sit down. Instead he raised his hand in the _ta’al_ and said, “You have traveled far. Will you come in and take your ease?”

Spock’s face softened for a moment, pleased and relieved to receive this welcome. “I will.” He limped through the door, leaning heavily on the cane, his steps no longer as light as they had once been. He showed the old man to a couch in the sitting room and said, “I will fetch a basin of water to wash your feet.”

Spock took him by the wrist. “There is no need. Your welcome is enough courtesy for me.”

“Tea, then.”

“Thank you, no.”

“Water.”

Spock took pity on him and agreed. George fetched a pair of glasses of water and sat down. “So,” he began, and then trailed off.

“So.” Spock replied.

“I guess you found us.”

“It was not difficult. Sarek informed me that you had been invited to assist with the design of the planetary defensive grid for Vulcan. It was not difficult to guess where you were living.”

“I’d be working on one for Earth if those boneheads at Starfleet would only listen.”

“Luckily the Vulcan people will never be accused of being ‘boneheaded.’”

George laughed. “They’re plenty stubborn, though.”

“Ah – that is more a virtue than a flaw,” Spock said archly, making George smile.

“Are you well? Really?” 

“I will be. I trust you are as well, and the children?”

“Yes – Sam’s growing like a weed, and it’s almost like Jim was made for this place. He’s so smart, he’s giving the kids his age a run for their credits.”

“A development that no doubt will perturb many a Vulcan educator.”

“Not to mention the other Vulcan kids. But don’t you worry – Spock and he are like a juggernaut together. I give them about another year before they own the place.”

Spock’s eyes got a far-away look in them. “They are close, then?”

“Yeah, like best friends forever.” George looked down at his water glass. “Listen, Spock, I know… what they are to each other, like, _later_ , but they’re just kids, you know? I don’t think it’s fair to them to make like there’s this pre-destiny at play here.”

“I would expect nothing less, George. You will find very few Vulcans that believe in fate – it is a most illogical use of time.”

“OK. Good.” George set his glass on the tray he’d brought. An awkward silence stretched between them George didn't know if this awkwardness would persist between them – he had grown to miss Spock almost as much as his sons had – but he knew the best way to at least alleviate it temporarily. “Would you like to see them? The boys?” 

“Only if you deem it appropriate.”

“They’re doing their schoolwork – give me a moment.”

\----

“Selek!” Jim shouted, running into the sitting room ahead of his brother, who was too old to show that level of enthusiasm, though George could tell he was excited to see his old nanny. 

Jim launched himself at Spock, forcing a light “oof” out of the old man as he threw himself into his arms. 

“You did come back! You did!”

“Hang on there, kiddo, you don’t want to choke Selek, do you?” George said.

Spock held up a hand, staying him. “It is no bother.” He accepted a hug from Sam, who seemed disturbed by his injuries.

“You’re hurt?” Sam asked.

“I will heal, I assure you,” Spock said, patting him fondly on the shoulder. “Look at how tall you’ve grown – you’ll be as tall as your father soon.”

Sam beamed. “You think so?”

“It is a statistical probability.”

Sam grinned.

“Good afternoon,” said a new voice. George turned to find that young Spock was standing in the doorway. He and Jim were literally inseparable, both spending afternoons after school at one of their houses. He approached the elderly Vulcan and regarded him gravely. “I did not think you would return.”

A look passed between the two of them, one that made George wonder if the boy knew the older man’s true identity. 

“I have.”

“I am gratified to see you safe,” young Spock said, then turned to Jim. “Jim, we will need to return to our schoolwork – my mother will arrive in thirteen minutes to take me home, and we have yet to agree on our hypothesis.”

Jim glanced at the elder Spock apologetically.

“You’d better go – you wouldn’t want to fall behind in your schoolwork. I will still be here when you are done.”

“OK, Selek.” Jim reached up and put his arms around Spock’s neck to give him a kiss on the cheek. Before they parted, Jim pulled Spock closer to whisper something into the old man’s ear. Spock replied in kind, their whispered conversation taking but a moment. Finally, Jim smiled happily and went to the younger Spock, taking him by the hand and running with him from the room. 

“What was it he said?” George asked.

“He said he was not on his quest anymore.”

“Oh? Why not?”

“He has found what he was looking for.”

George was confused – he could barely keep up with the whims and fads that came into and out of fashion with his sons. “What was that again?”

Spock’s smile was half bemused, half proud. “His _t’hy’la_.”

\----

Thank you for your time. 

You can also find me on Tumblr @rabidchild67, I hope you'll consider following me there.


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